derivation
by cupcakeriot
Summary: (noun) derivation. the obtaining of something from a source or origin. "All it takes is a touch," Bella says - and that is how she reveals that there is more to her than meets the eye. Little did she realize that she also had a derivative, one that she could scarcely predict. A Twilight Re-Telling.
1. preface: a thousand years in the making

**preface**

 **a thousand years in the making**

* * *

 **"O Earth, that hast no voice, confide to me a voice!**

 **O harvest of my lands! O boundless summer growths!**

 **O lavish, brown, parturient earth! O infinite, teeming womb!**

 **A verse to seek, to see, to narrate thee."**

 **\- Walt Whitman**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Although ancient, Aro was a simple man and there was one thing man truly wanted - immortality. In his human days, immortality was achieved by procreation, a privilege that Aro would never forget was stolen from him when his maker had ripped into his throat and venom had brought forth the demon the lived inside the man. The inability of vampires to have children had irked Aro so greatly that he, a philosophy scholar of twenty-five, had killed his own sire in a bout of madness. This inability still haunted him. Aro believed it haunted them all.

Vampirism was a close to immortality was one could become, but in truth, vampiric immortality was imperfect. Aro could still die. He'd proven that countless times before and, as of late, he'd had the urge to prove it again in the murder of his younger sister, Didyme.

His delightful sister, who he had changed into a vampire himself. Didyme, the living proof that Aro could love beyond his own ambition, proof that he was whimsical, proof that his ambition for immortality was very much alive. He'd never been so disappointed to learn that Didyme's gift was _happiness_. Compared to his own gift, he'd had thoughts for a while that his sister's position in his coven was essentially useless, Marcus be damned. She was a complication, a threat that Aro could ill-abide. In his ethics, in his worldview, the ends did truly justify the means and he was not shy of using any means at his disposal. It was this ruthlessness that had put the Volturi Coven in power and it was, in large part, his cunning that kept them there.

Still, to kill his own sister…Aro's contemplation about murdering his sister were kept to himself, but his wife was more clever than he gave her credit for. His true match on this entire world, throughout time and for eternity, Sulpicia _knew_ Aro better than perhaps Aro knew himself.

"Regret shall haunt you, my love, if you take the mate of your friend and end the life of your kin," said Sulpicia, lips brushing against his ear, nails scratching down the fine arch of his brow. She is careful how she touches his skin and it makes him curious. Sulpicia so rarely attempts to hide her mind from him. "I do not wish to see you haunted."

"What would you have me do, then? Didyme tests my patience each day she tempts Marcus from the throne. He is _necessary_ ," Aro argues, voicing the thoughts that have been crawling through his mind, insidious and treasonous, for years. He _requires_ Marcus' gift just as much as he requires Caius' tactical mind. Without either, the Volturi rule is precarious. He would not end up like the _Romanians_.

"My love," says Sulpicia, soothing and gentle. "I believe I have found a solution to your woes."

Aro's head rolls on his neck, ruby eyes lazily tracking his wife's form as she slips out of his reach and opens the door of their chambers. Sulpicia snaps her fingers, turning to Aro with an insolent smirk. Behind her, a waifish vampire of oil-spill dark skin appears, wide eyes locking onto Aro with _intrigue_. His brows rise minutely, but he waits until his wife has closed the doors, content to allow Sulpicia's ambition to reign free.

"This is Mele," she announces simply.

As it turns out, Mele is gifted with a remarkable ability - the transference of powers at a simple touch, the possibilities of which make Aro salivate. Oh, but what he could do with such power at his own fingertips. He thinks he understands what his wife intends, until she strokes his cheek and tells him of a plan that would soothe so very many of Aro's desire. There is hope in her touch, in her mind, a tentative thing that spoke of a desire long-suppressed. His brilliant wife had found a way around what the change had snuffed so effectively; or, at the very least, Sulpicia had a theory that she was determined to test.

Aro wants immortality; his wife longs for a family, for that which was stolen from her at the press of his venomous teeth to the gentle slope of her neck. For her, in apology of forever sealing her womb, Aro would entertain his wife, his dear mate. It is indeed an additional bonus that Sulpicia's desire would deliver his to him, as well.

He smiles, a sharp thing of too many teeth. Fierce, much like his love, and so very different from the humanity that had abandoned him all those years ago. "And you think such a thing is possible, my love?"

Sulpicia drapes herself over his lap, nails scraping over his scalp, unheeding of their single-person audience, who watches on with keen interest. "My love, I believe that you can make it possible."

And that is how Aro, already two thousand years old, becomes a father.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The Volturi must not know but that is not a problem for Aro. He is the secret-keeper. And anyway, Marcus is occupied with Didyme - who lives under Aro's mercy and a sworn oath that _Marcus would not leave_ \- and Caius has gone to war over _dogs_. He is very much left to rule at his leisure in Volterra. It suits him - and his plans - well.

The women he allows Sulpicia to pick. Over the course of several years, she carefully selects women that look similar to herself, for the purposeful fact that she is intent on reminding Aro of who _exactly_ thought of this plan to ensure his immortality. It is a tedious process. Vampire strength so easily overpowers all-too breakable humans and his restraint of his thirst has grown lax. More than one human falls victim to his bite, but Sulpicia always returns with another that satisfies her requirements, be in weeks, months, or years later. He obliges. When he lays with the women, Sulpicia is at his side; when the only woman who makes it into the third month lives, Sulpicia is the one who minds her needs; and when the woman screeches and thrashes upon the stone floor, torn in two from the inside out, it is Sulpicia who takes the babe and holds the child aloft between Aro and Mele.

The transfer of Aro's power into a half-vampire infant is a curious concept and rather more painful than he thought it would be. Like a tug straight from his naval. For a disorienting moment, he finds his mind strangely silent, and fears that his own gift is lost to this process. But he allows it to happen, the moment passing within the next breath.

As the baby cries - dark hair, dark eyes, a mouth full of venom-dripping teeth - Aro is stock-still, watching as Mele frowns in contemplation and says, "It is very odd, but I do not think your gift will manifest in this child."

"Pardon?" says Sulpicia, holding the female infant in the crook of her arm. Her touch is gentle, vibrant red eyes alight with maternal affection that warms Aro. He wonders for his wife's health when the child is taken from the castle - as it had to be for them to keep this treacherous secret from the others. Arrangements have been made, though, and the child would not be too far. Rome, under the care of humans and Mele's watchful, wary eyes.

Mele shakes her head, brow furrowed. When she speaks, it is without confusion; when Aro touches the back of her hand, her mind is clear, scientific and as familiar as Plato's writings. "Although the transfer was successful, this child has no powers to speak of. Perhaps in a generation or two, should the child reproduce, then that is when the gift will come to fruition. It is a gift that must be inherited."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Aro does not comprehend the meaning of this _inheritance_ until a golden-eyed vampire by the name of Cullen comes to his court five hundred years later and by that time, Aro is a grandfather. His first child, Arilpicia, had died in the birth of her son, whom was called Fozino and who was raised far, far away from the castle walls of Volterra.

Carlisle Cullen speaks of his vegetarianism just as easily as he talks about a human fool named Mendel and that is when Aro understands.

He will have to be patient. The guarantee of his immortality - of the greatness of his gift - will come to fruition, but it will take time. As Carlisle posits and as Eleazar agrees, the gifts of vampires are _recessive_ , not dominant. Vampiric gifts are by chance, not rote.

If anything, this confirms for Aro the superiority of his guard, of himself. He contents himself to wait and watches as Sulpicia bides her time with visits to Rome under the guise of marveling at the humans and their progress.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Fozino is soft-hearted, idealistic and bright-eyed. He dies in the second World War, of which his participation was strongly discouraged in spite of Fozino's declaration that he had an obligation to the humans, an obligation to stop them from killing themselves. Aro and Sulpicia's mourning of Fozino is silent, private and wretched. He'd had a _grandson_ \- a quarter-vampire with no talent to speak of, but surely with Aro's nose. He had loved Fozino just as much as he'd loved Arilpicia, but this loss is more difficult to accept.

Their bereavement is comforted only with the knowledge that Fozino had taken a human wife, Nancy, and that she was already pregnant by the time Fozino left for war.

Aro's great-grandson, Charles, is given the surname of his adoptive American parents after his mother - Nancy - dies giving birth to him, as does seem to be the pattern of vampiric births, which are unaccountably violent. He has never laid eyes upon Charles Swan, but Mele is a reliable agent and he believes her when she assesses Charles Swan to be somewhat gifted.

"A shield, I think," she says thoughtfully on the night that Charles is taken from Italy in a contraption called an _aeroplane_. "But if you were to wait a single generation…"

Aro listens and he watches the life of his great-grandson through the eyes of others. Sulpicia's day trips to Rome all but cease; instead, she fabricates an interest in American cities. If she visits Seattle more than Chicago or New York, then none are the wiser save Aro, who eagerly watches his great-grandson grow into a man each time she returns from overseas.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"There is a girl," Mele announces on the cusp of the new millennium. " _The_ girl, I believe, Master. _Isabella_."

Aro sits straighter in his seat, Sulpicia mimicking his attentive posture as Mele relates what she knows about the squalling creature - one-eighth vampire, hardly enough to count but enough to show promise - that has finally inherited his ability. Born in September 1999, Isabella Marie Swan already uses her gift, reaching out to touch the hands of her caregivers and make silent demands to see to her needs.

Aro is enthralled by the news - by the possibility. Isabella's gift is not quite like his own, but it is similar enough that he is satisfied. Mele posits that her own gift had somehow been transferred into Aro's bloodline, but he hardly cares. If _Isabella_ is gifted twice-over, then a more stunning and impressive heir to him she will be.

"I must see this girl," he says, standing and reaching for Sulpicia, who shares the same enthusiasm. It is, in a way, also her great-great-granddaughter and she has not held a child since sweet-hearted Fozino.

With Didyme still alive and Marcus tamed, it is very easy to make excuses to leave Volterra at a whim. At Sulpicia's bidding, Aro takes Renata along as protection; his new guard is meek enough that neither of them believe she will tell their secret, even without Chelsea's interference in her loyalty.

The new age of technology in the human world makes such excursions very easy. A single chartered plane and fifteen hours later, Aro is gazing down at the heir of his power with awe while the child blinks calmly, looking up at his red eyes from the safety of her crib. He does not remember Arilpicia being quite so small or pink. It must be because Isabella is so _human_ \- except for the eyes. The mossy-green color is a remnant of his human life, but the variation of flecks - golden, cocoa, silver, gimlet - and the sharpness behind the gaze is all _vampire_. Superior.

Aro reaches out, a single thin finger hovering over the quiet infant. He waits, Sulpicia at his side, murmuring about how _perfect_ the girl was, how even she could feel that the child was something _other_ in a way that not even other half-breeds had been.

The babe stretches her hand to wrap around Aro's finger - still for a moment before gurgling in happiness, sending back a thought of _cold_ and _safe_ and _thirsty_ through the link between their skin. Aro's breath catches.

Isabella is so obviously Aro's - it could be no other way.

He is besotted.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Aro keeps an eye on his Isabella far more closely than any of his other descendants. Perhaps it is because he is a thousand years older, wiser to the frailty of life that could be taken so arbitrarily. Perhaps it is because _Isabella_ is the one for whom he has been waiting. Perhaps it is because Sulpicia has gone to great lengths to ensure that he would have some connection to this talented child and that makes it all the more easy to involve himself in her sweet, sweet life.

To Isabella, Aro is her great-uncle - a long lost relative of her father's who lives overseas in the motherland and who only wishes for some connection with a living relative. By extension, Aro comes to know his great-grandson Charles well enough through letters that he begins to think twice about changing Charles into a full-vampire. Time will tell, he supposes, and in any case, Isabella is always his focus.

Little Isabella Swan is the light of his very long life.

He follows her progression through the years with a keen eye, as does his dear wife, who is enamored with the girl as well. Isabella's life, thrumming with possibility, eases the grief of the death of Aro's other descendants. He cannot wait to truly meet the girl when she is old enough, to truly become her family, her confidant, her sire.

Aro is a patient man. To achieve true immortality, to return what has been stolen, patience is absolutely necessary.

* * *

 **A/N: WELL, I just tossed canon right on it's ass. If you didn't know: Didyme, Marcus' wife, really is Aro's little sister and he really did kill her because Marcus and she were thinking about leaving and Mele is from the** _ **Life and Death**_ **branch of the fandom and really does have the power transference (obviously used differently here). In writing this, I introduced an alternate-universe character and didn't kill anyone! Yay!**

 **This is actually the first time in all my years writing that I'm doing, like, actual fanfiction. It's a Twilight re-telling, mostly because I wondered what might have happened in canon if Bella figured** _ **vampires**_ **out really fast without all of that internet research nonsense. So, there had to be a way for that to happen, which meant that her figuring it out had to be instantaneous, which meant that either she was like Alice or she was like Edward. I went with telepathy, but more specifically, I went with** _ **Aro's**_ **telepathy…mostly. I've always liked the idea of touch-telepathy, but while Aro's is like ALL AT ONCE, I'm going more Vulcan-esque in this version. It's not going to be exactly like either, but that's alright because she is only 1/8th vampire…**

 **So, here we are. Stick around, kids.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	2. one: august

**one**

 **august**

* * *

 **August creates as she slumbers, replete and satisfied.**

 **\- - - Joseph Wood Krutch**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Biting her lip, Bella strains her hearing in the hope of reaching the low murmuring in the living room where Phil Dwyer is surely proposing to her mother at that very moment. He was young, but sweet and Bella liked him better than other boyfriends. Phil was stable. Her mother needed stable.

Just a few weeks ago, Phil had been accepted into the Minor Leagues and Bella had thought the worst, had thought the inevitable - Phil would break her mother's heart. It had happened before. She'd been surprised, then, when Phil had taken her aside and relayed his intentions, seeking _Bella's_ approval for her mother's hand. And Bella, perhaps more privy than most daughters to the thoughts of their mothers, had only been able to acquiesce. She thought that might have been the end of it, but Phil had taken her approval as a tacit permission to rope her into planning the proposal, which is why when he'd given the signal a few minutes ago, Bella had made a flimsy excuse to leave the room. She'd already opened the sparkling apple cider Phil bought and it sits on the counter, carbonation fizzling more loudly than the voices and the low hum of the television.

Her brow furrows. This proposal business is taking longer than she thought it would - unless, had her mother said no? She didn't think it was possible. Few people loved as openly as Renee and fewer still had been loved as fiercely as Renee loved Phil.

Bella tilts her head, bringing her face flush to the wall separating the kitchen from the living room -

"Yes!" Renee cries. "Oh, Phil! I'm so h- _happy!_ "

"These are tears of joy?" comes Phil's voice, muffled toward the end by a kiss, a smack of lips that makes Bella grin in genuine happiness.

She'd have a step-father, now. A good man to help take care of her mother. Already, Bella begins to mentally shuffle household duties and obligations, factoring in Phil's new schedule that she'd glimpsed and memorized. She thinks that the new life standing before her could be a good one. A great one, even, all peaceful and happy. Bella is glad that her mother will have someone when she goes to college in a year.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Renee takes to wedding planning with the type of eccentric enthusiasm that might be expected, spending inordinate amounts of time when Phil is away to flip through bridal magazines. She comes to Bella when she is indecisive, asking a daughter more interested in books and cozy sweaters for fashion advice that she is - for once - ill equipped to supply. For all Bella's vast knowledge, she has no idea about _trends_ , but her mother doesn't listen when she brings up this point and Bella resigns herself to muddling through.

Of course, with such close proximity that comes with passing glossy-paged magazines back and forth, it was inevitable that Renee's fingers would brush over her hand.

All it ever takes it a touch.

… _I will miss him so much…_

Bella pulls away quickly, covering the movement by pointing to another picture to capture Renee's interest - and her mind whirls, emotions and thoughts that are not her own slipping away in a mental breeze. The content itself lingers, though.

Renee is already anticipating unhappiness after the honeymoon when Phil's work would whisk him to other states, because of _course_ she would need to stay with her underage daughter.

Bella's first thought is that this is unfair.

Her mother should be happy - always.

The solution is obvious.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The first time it happens - or more like the first obvious time it happens, the first time her parents are clued in - Bella flinches and begins to cry into her fists, shoulders heaving as she cringes away from her mother's soothing touch.

"Bella, baby, what's wrong? Is it your tummy? Does you head hurt?" Renee asks frantically, then when she receives no discernable response, she hollers over her shoulder, " _Charlie!_ "

"What - Renee, what _happened_?" Charlie demands as he rushes into the room, face etched with stress and quickly replaced by panic. He crouches down in front of Bella, radiating confusion at the entire situation. It is very rare when Charles Swan is _unsure_.

"I don't know! I was just brushing her hair and she started _bawling_!"

"Bells," Charlie murmurs, picking her up with a grunt and balancing her on his hip. He runs a large hand over the back of her head as he makes shushing noises. "Hey, hey. Bells, what is it?"

"Divorce!" Bella wails. "D-Divorce! Daddy, don't leave!"

Charlie had frozen, exchanging a long look with Renee as Bella latched onto his neck with two skinny arms. His soon-to-be ex-wife shakes her head when he mouths, _"Did you tell her_?" and Charlie frowns deeply.

"Baby, how did you know?"

Muffled by the way her face is pressed into Charlie's throat, Bella has to repeat herself twice. "Her head told me," Bella says.

And what follows is a year of five-year-old Bella being shuffled between neurologists, psychologists, and psychiatrists. She vividly recalls speaking to very confused adults who simply didn't understand that _sometimes_ Bella just _knew_ things when she touched someone. More rarely, sometimes she knew things about _things_ when she touched objects. A few doctors wanted her medicated, absolutely convinced that Bella was suffering psychosis - delusional schizophrenia, maybe, or a fractured personality.

Charlie, though, is adamant in his refusal. He says that he's been talking to an estranged Uncle of his and that this Uncle just thinks Bella is going through a phase. Charlie tells Renee that they've blown everything out of proportion. "Bella probably just overheard us the night before," he says as he convinces his ex-wife to drop the search for an explanation. "Kids process things differently. Remember what that one quack-"

"I think you mean, that one _licensed child psychologist_ -"

"-said? She was just processing. And besides," Charlie finishes firmly. "Bells hasn't done it again, not for a few months. She's _fine_ , Renee."

"Okay," Renee replies, relieved and easily convinces - because believing _this_ is an easier road to travel than the other option. "You're right. Our Bella will be just fine. She's just…smarter than the average kid."

"Exactly."

Of course, that was the only conversation Bella had actually overheard. She hadn't been lying when she said that she learned of her parent's divorce from Renee's _head_ , but she had decided to be smart and stop talking about all the things she _knew_. Bella _was_ a smart child. Very smart - smart enough to see the writing on the wall and take steps to protect herself. Smart enough to keep this secret. Nobody needed to know; she understood that now.

The things she _knew_ after she touched? That was _her_ secret. And if that meant she was careful about how she touched the world around her, then so be it. Even at six, after a year of grueling psychological evaluations, Bella Swan displayed remarkable levels of competence.

And at the very least, there was a silver-lining to all those psychometric tests - the IQ tests that let her skip a grade or two right from the start.

Still - she always remembers that all it ever takes is a touch.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Her mother's second marriage is observed during the height of summer, right in the middle of August, and Renee is more radiant than the hot sun beating down on the Arizona desert. Her smile is catching, her eyes dancing and blue, her joy a tangible force in the volume of her laughter. Beside her, Phil's happiness is nearly as immutable.

In the sidelines, Bella smiles, warmth curling in her chest. Sweat has gathered at the base of her neck, pooling in collarbones decorated with faint sun freckles, more skin exposed than she is strictly comfortable to bare - but her mother had asked for so little and Bella could not deny her mother such simple happiness.

The day is bittersweet. Her last full day living with Renee. How appropriate that it should be a celebration.

Bella is not maudlin about the impending change brought about by Phil Dwyer's marriage to her flighty mother - in a lot of ways, she's actually very excited. As much as she loves her mother, it's exhausting being the adult in the house; her father's house would be different, that much she knew, and she looked forward to _teenage_ things. It would be a nice experience to simply go to school and not concern herself with adult issues.

 _Maybe I'll go to a dance_ , she muses. _Charlie would like that_.

Her idle thoughts are cut short with her mother calling her onto the parquet dance floor. Bella tunes back into the present, reluctantly and cautiously joining Renee in a dance, watching her feet carefully as she throws her arms to the sun, which sets slow over the desert horizon. The fierce joy in her heart, the elation of this moment, emblazons itself into her memory and Bella knows that _this_ will be the moment she'll look back on when she thinks of her mother, of her childhood in Arizona.

This moment dancing to _The Go Go's_ with the beginning of a sunburn reddening her shoulders and nose - this is freedom and happiness and _mother_.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She is never more glad of Phil's steady presence than when Renee is blubbering over Bella at the edge of the security checkpoint in the airport a day later. Her mother's hot tears drip onto Bella's skin. She tries to hug back just as hard, but she thinks that there is something about parenthood that makes hugs more unbreakable, more honest. Renee's heartbreak over Bella's departure to her father's home is not a farce - but at the same time, part of Renee is _glad_ to be alone with Phil, to be a newlywed and enjoy her husband in these early years of their marriage.

Bella can't begrudge her mother this, not when she _knows_ the exact breadth of Renee's thoughts. She lets her touch linger on the bare skin of her mother's upper arms as she lingers in this hug, absorbing pure _Renee_ as much as possible. Her mother is like the desert sun, warm and insurmountable.

"I'll be okay, Mom," she says, pulling away. "Besides, don't you think my skin will thank me for a little shade? We don't all tan as well as you do."

"Oh!" Renee frets, smoothing Bella's clothes and sniffling. "Oh, baby, don't forget to use the aloe, okay? You make that father of yours buy some if you run out."

"I will," Bella says.

"And make sure you get out of the house, okay? Books are fine and all, but real people are even better."

"I know," she repeats, chest twinging at this prolonged farewell. "But you will send my books, right?"

"I'll ship them overnight," Phil answers, draping a toned arm over Renee's shoulders, subtly reigning his new wife in, calming her more effectively than Bella has ever been able to. "They're already in the trunk waiting to be taken to the UPS store."

"Thank you," she says to her step-father.

They both know that she means _thanks_ for more than just her books.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Seatac International Airport is _massive_ , but Charlie is already waiting for her at the gate, wrapping her into a cool embrace. When he presses a kiss to her forehead, his mustache brushing her brow, Bella is inundated with a wave of _Charlie_ \- her stoic, cool under pressure, strong and silent _father_ , who is everything that is safe and calm. He smells like pine and cloves and in this embrace Bella also lingers, basking in the cleansing breeze of her father's mind. He is more reserved than Renee; Bella has never been entirely sure that it is because of Charlie being _Charlie_ or if there's another reason. She feels, sometimes, that part of Charlie is locked away.

"Hey, Bells," he says gruffly, patting her on the back. "Missed you."

"I missed you, too."

"Let's get out of here, yeah?"

Bella nods, tucking herself beneath her father's arm, using his body as a barrier against the sheer volume of people in the airport. She's been in this airport twice a year since she was seven but it never fails to amaze her just how busy it is, how many people can be packed into one place. Charlie has always indulged her need to shadow him in large crowds, though, a habit that hadn't faded since she was very young. Her father was her safe harbor - he seemed to know it, even enjoyed it. Bella was content with him.

She shouldn't have waited so long to move back to Washington.

They are quiet in Charlie's cruiser on the four hour drive to his little hamlet town of Forks, not out of lack of topics to discuss but because they are both naturally taciturn. He does make an effort to ask about her new favorite book - for the week, it is _The Catcher in the Rye_ \- and she returns the gesture by asking for his most interesting cases since the last time she saw him - which is a curious case of a slowly dwindling deer population. After that, aside from agreeing that they would rather eat at home, they return to their companionable silence.

Bella turns her eye to the car window, familiarizing herself with the towering evergreens, the outline of the Cascades and Mount Rainer to the east, and the heavy ridges of the Olympic Peninsula looming on either side of the highway. Somehow, she always forgets how _much green_ is in Washington. The beauty is astounding, a different sort of stunning than the Arizona desert. Perhaps just as different as the tenor of her parent's minds.

It is somewhat sobering to discover that Charlie's house hasn't changed at all since the last time she was there - two weeks in June - and that it _really_ hadn't changed since he was married to Renee. She shoulders into the foyer, eyeing the flaking sunshine yellow paint on the kitchen cabinets with a determined jut to her jaw. She decides right then that she would help Charlie move on - Renee had already done so and her father deserved to be just as happy. Her new project - the house - would involve Charlie's cooperation to drive her to Port Angeles over the weekend, but she doesn't think that he'll object.

Bella could think of worse ways to spend the last two weeks of her summer vacation. What else would she do while her books from Phoenix were being shipped and while Charlie was working shifts at the station? Until she had homework, Bella's days would be empty and she wasn't someone who liked to be idle.

And she's right - Charlie doesn't object when she brings up her idea to do a little home renovation. Just to be sure, when she mentions it, she brushes her pinky over his wrist, right under his watch.

All it takes is a touch.

Charlie is relieved.

… _It's about time…_

She can't agree more.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Charlie's routine isn't mysterious. During the week, he wakes up early, drinks the ultra-strong sludge they both love that is _coffee_ , and disappears down to the station for the day until it's quitting time and he can recline with _Sports Center_ after eating a hasty meal of more carbohydrates than she cares to think about. The weekends are not much different, except he trades the station for fishing down in La Push with Billy Black and Harry Clearwater. This is true whether Bella is there or not, so she thinks its very gracious of him to skip fishing on Saturday in order to drive her over to the Port Angeles Home Depot.

They share of thermos of over-hot coffee over the muted news reports on the radio, content to their silence. Bella is happy like this; she thinks that Charlie is, too. He chuffs a laugh when she pulls out a book from the little woven over-shoulder bag that she _always_ carries with her, the fabric so worn that the scuffs are a lurid orange rather than the mocha it had been when she'd originally bought it. Today, she is interested in continuing her pursuit of Tolstoy and Charlie whistles low when she cracks open _Resurrection_.

If Renee were here, she would fret over the contents of a book with such a title, but Charlie is simply mildly impressed. He'd sent her Russian literature before, a bundle of Voltaire's novels for her birthday last year. Bella might fuss at other presents, but she could never turn down a book.

She loses herself in Tolstoy's world for the rest of the drive, invigorated in equal turns by words and caffeine. Charlie nudges her gently when he turns off the cruiser in the Home Depot parking lot and she packs her book away, marking her page with a thin silver-chain bookmark boasting a single ruby pendant that had also been a gift.

Bella enters the store, exhaling the overwhelming feeling of _so many options_ through her nose and instructing Charlie to find new hardware for the cabinets and light fixtures. Then, she heads over to the expansive section of the store dedicated to paint, where she waffles for a good few minutes, eyes roving over different brands and colors and uses with a modicum of confusion. She should have researched beforehand, or something, but she honestly thought that starting small by repainting and replacing old fixtures would be _easy_.

Oh, how wrong she was!

What color did she want? She wasn't sure. Renee gravitated to loud, bright shades and judging by the dour pattern of Charlie's favorite chair, he preferred more natural colors. That - she can work with that. She would keep it simple.

Bella turns to track a brand that seems to specialize in colors found in nature. She frowns, memory pulling up a list of color meanings that she must have skimmed a few years ago, and then rules out the warmer pallet of oranges, browns, and reds. After that, Bella quickly decides on a slate grey for the walls in the living room and hallway, a dusty purple for her room, a grey-green for Charlie's room, and an airy stone-grey for the kitchen. But she wavers for the cabinets, unsure if there needs to be an extra step before she paints them or if the lighter taupe she has her eye on will cover that bright yellow adequately. Off-white walls are different than already-painted cabinets, right?

"Could I help you, dear?"

Bella turns, expecting to see an employee in an orange vest. She blinks. The woman beside her is _beautiful_ in a classic, old-Hollywood way, pale with a small nose and doleful warm caramel eyes only a shade lighter than her silky hair. The woman smiles at her, closed-lipped and kind. Her lips are painted in a perfect ruby rouge.

"I don't know," Bella responds, a little belated. " _Can_ you help me?"

"I'll do my best, dear," she says, eyes twinkling. "I'm an interior designer, so I know a thing or two about paint. You seem to be buying a lot of colors…"

"My dad's house could use an upgrade that isn't so, you know, _mid_ - _90's fabulous_."

The woman laughs and it sounds like ringing bells. "I see. It looks like an awful lot of work. Are you very committed?"

"Summer vacation," Bella says by way of explanation.

The woman laughs again. "So, you have all these cans picked out…but you have hit a snag?"

"Cabinets."

"Ah," she replies, nodding sagely. "Already painted, I assume?"

"Yes. My mother had to chose the most eye-searing shade of yellow known to man and now I'm not sure if I'll even be able to cover it up."

The woman peers at the cans in the display, lips pursed. "Well, dear, I think you were on the right track. The brand you settled on already has a primer built in, which should be thick enough to cover even _eye-searing shades of yellow_ ," she decides with a gentle giggle. "But if there are any chips on the cabinets now, you would better serve your project to sand down the edges of the chips so that your new color goes on smooth."

"Sandpaper," Bella confirms, nodding to herself. "Thank you for helping me."

The woman smiles again, then turns to another selection of paint brand. "Oh, dear, it was my pleasure. I admire youths who make their days productive. My own sons can't be bothered to help in my projects and I'm afraid my daughters appreciate a different type of shopping."

"Still, thanks for saving me from the headache of second-guessing all these choices. I'm Bella, by the way."

"Esme Cullen," says the woman.

Bella's lips stretch into a smile. _Esme_. A classic name for a classic woman.

She bids Esme farewell, pushing her cart of paint cans through the store in search for her father - and for sandpaper. Maybe a rug, too. And a new kitchen table. And, actually, new tiles for the bathroom and kitchen…

Charlie is a good sport about her purchases. He even adds his two-cents when she hems and haws between options - and then, once they have picked out some unexpected furniture additions, he promises to call up a deputy with a truck to haul out their old stuff the next day. She has the unerring sense that all this change is difficult for him, but that he's forging on all the same because - because it's _time_.

And as a reward for his cooperation, Bella personally places what will be one of the last pizza deliveries to the Swan home for the next year. She imagines Charlie might begin to balk once she reveals the dietary changes she was planning for him. Just the thought inspires a private smile.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Over the course of the next week, Bella settles into her new life and into an efficient routine with her painting project. Charlie helps her with the prep on Monday morning, delaying his departure for work for an hour while he walks her through how to lay tarps and line baseboards with paint. He shows her the right screws to use when she gets around to replacing hardware and encourages her to _be careful_ , _for God's sake._

Bella enjoys the week, the burn in seldom-used muscles as she reaches and stretches and cleans. It's messier than she expected and paint _drips_ if there is too much on the roller and her knees are killing her from redoing the floors and she has a jammed thumb, but by the time she is done, the house is transformed as much as she can manage by herself and Bella has learned new skills. _House painting_. _Tile laying. Hedge trimming_. _Navigating a toolbox._

When Charlie steps into the kitchen of new white vinyl self-adhesive tiles and freshly painted taupe cabinets, he hugs Bella for a long, long time. Bella, not wanting to intrude on his thoughts, is careful to keep their skin from touching, but hugs back just as fiercely before she shows him the rest of the house, filled with pride.

She should have done this for him a long time ago.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Great-Uncle Aro,_

 _I have finally finished unpacking all of the books shipped from my old room in Phoenix, but imagine my surprise when another box arrived today full of the collective works of one Edgar Allen Poe. Correct me if I'm wrong, but these look an awful lot like first editions. How you spoil me! And how you challenge me - you know how I feel about Poe! The Raven went on for eons, Uncle. Eons._

 _But thank you all the same. Know that I will devour these books just as readily as I do any book you send me. You feed my habit enough that Charlie has started calling you The Enabler._

 _Tell me, how is Italy? Last time you wrote, you said that the tourists in Volterra were thinning more and more each year. I hope that is not the case, for I still have plans to visit the town of our family when I have graduated high school. Please do all you can to attract new visitors, Uncle. Have you thought anymore about a parade? Volterra has such rich history to celebrate._

 _Send Aunt Sulpicia my love and gratitude! I wish to remind her that I use her bookmark each day and that it frequently brightens my thoughts._

 _All my love,_

 _Your Great-Grandniece Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Rachel and Rebecca Black turn eighteen on August 27th and Bella is one of many attendees at the gathering on First Beach that is part birthday celebration and part farewell send off. The next day, Rachel and Rebecca are scheduled to drive down to Seattle and get settled in their dormitories at University of Washington. They are both excited about rooming with someone they are not related to, though when Rachel says this in confidence, her smile falters with nerves.

"You don't have anything to worry about," Bella tells her soothingly, voice nearly drowned out by the crackle of blue flame in the driftwood bonfire.

"Even if my roommate sucks?" Rachel asks with an indelicate snort that does nothing to detract from the exotic beauty of her rich russet complexion and deep-set jet eyes. "I mean, not that anyone can be worse than _Becca_ on a bad hair day, but still. I've read horror stories on the UW forums. Socks on door handles, Bella."

"I thought that was only for boys?"

"Apparently not," says Rachel wryly. Then she sighs, fiddling with a clamshell necklace. "Listen to me, making a mountain out of a mole hill. I have nothing to be worried about. It's just…I can't imagine being off the Res for so long, you know?"

Bella nods in understanding. In all honesty, she couldn't grasp the gravity of Rachel's concerns - she didn't have that ancestral history, that sense of maligned civil rights that swam through the veins of all Native Americans. But she _could_ empathize. Change is hard. "I could recommend a book, probably," she offers after a moment, thinking of a dozen titles that might ease the transition into adulthood and give Rachel a different perspective.

"Good God, no. And add to my reading list? Pass."

They dissolve into laughter - their exchange is not a new one. By the virtue of their fathers being such close friends, Rachel and Bella have known each other since they were children, having spent summers down by the beach and the tidal pools, exploring and growing and laughing as Rachel and Rebecca coaxed Bella out of her world of books, their little brother Jacob nipping at their heels. Any time Rachel was unsure - like after the death of her mother, Sarah, two summers ago - it was Bella's habit to offer a book and Rachel's time-honored response to react with bemusement.

The rest of the party is spent by Rachel's side, catching up on the La Push goings-on that Charlie wouldn't think to share - such as Leah Clearwater and Sam Uley breaking up over Leah's cousin Emily, Paul Lahote getting in trouble with the tribal elders over a brawl that apparently ended with damage to one of the ancestral dream-catchers, and more interestingly, the recent fall-out between Old Quil, Harry Clearwater, and Billy Black.

"I'm not even sure what it's about," Rachel declares uneasily, pushing long hair behind her ears. "Dad is being so hush-hush about it, you know, and it doesn't help that Harry had to leave the Council because of his heart. Sue is beside herself. She was over the other day and called all three of them children. I didn't even know my Dad could pout so much."

"Charlie didn't mention any of this," Bella comments, picking her way carefully over the beach.

"Well, he wouldn't. I mean, it's such a weird fight. I think Dad is embarrassed by it, so I'm not surprised he wouldn't mention it to Charlie - but if he does, you make sure to tell your Dad to keep mum about it. Billy is dead-set on his opinion and you know how stubborn he can be. I'd hate for him to have a falling out with your Dad, too."

Bella makes a note to pass along Rachel's advice later on, seeing the wisdom of it. Charlie didn't have many friends; he could stand the keep the ones he did have. "Aside from all of that, what else is going on?"

"Did I tell you that Jake has his heart set on being a mechanic? He finally convinced Dad to let him try fixing up that old monstrosity in the garage."

Bella's brows raise. "That red truck? _Really_?"

Rachel nods, snickering to herself. "Yeah, really."

"Good luck, Jacob Black," Bella murmurs.

"Trust me, he needs all the luck he can get. He's so scrawny for thirteen, but I like his ambition."

"Try and try again."

"That's right!" Rachel agrees. "Persistence is a Black quality, did you know? Jake's more persistent than most."

"You tell him that if he can get that thing running, I'll convince Charlie to buy it for my sixteenth birthday," Bella decides thoughtfully. "I could use a car for college. Do you think he could get it done in a year? I should ask."

Rachel rolls her eyes with a grin. "You're an enabler, Bella Swan."

"It runs in the family," Bella smirks, slipping on one of the larger boulders near the edge of the shoreline and swiftly righting her balance with her arms thrown to the slide, previous expression wiped from her face as her heart races. She sighs in relief and then shoots a scowl in Rachel's direction as the other girl laughs hard enough to clutch at her stomach. "You know," she says, stepping down carefully. "Most people would at least ask if I'm okay."

Rachel wipes at the mirthful tears falling from her eyes. "Please," she gasps in delight. "We're practically family. I'm entitled to fully enjoying the marvel that is your abysmal coordination."

"Oh, sure, laugh it up," Bella huffs. "I hope your roommate leaves tons of socks on your door!"

Rachel Black's shrieks of laughter fill the air at First Beach.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dearest Isabella,_

 _Please entertain this old fool and read_ The Tell-Tale Heart _. Perhaps it is my dark humor, but I believe you will understand my fascination with Mister Poe after giving the story another look. And if you do not, I shall not hold a grudge, I solemnly promise._

 _Italy would be better for your fair presence, precious, but Sulpicia and I would both prefer you to graduate before you travel. The world is waiting to meet you, Isabella, and you are young yet. Might I plead that you try to grow a bit more slowly? While I am but a simple old man, I am sure your father would greatly appreciate it if you would bask in your childhood. Nevertheless, I believe you are very much like me and I should not dream to demand that you halt progress to appease those around you. Do that which makes you happy, dearest girl._

 _That said, I have spoken with Sulpicia about your suggestion of a parade. She is interested by the idea and encourages me to speak to my associates about a new tourist attraction. I will continue to mull this over, but I do believe the idea has merit and as such, you have my gratitude, dear one. Your brilliance continues to be unchallenged._

 _Now, Sulpicia knows that your birthday is naught but a few weeks away and she would like to inquire if your ears have been pierced? I know not of what she plans, sweet Isabella, but I suspect that my wife intends to honor your fifteenth birthday properly. Please indulge her, as she longs to spoil you and she does not seem keen to take refusal as an answer._

 _May I extend my best wishes to this, your final year of schooling?_

 _My eternal heart,_

 _Aro_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

With great care, Bella tucks Great Uncle Aro's most recent letter into a simple wooden keepsake box that she kept on top of her desk, latching the golden lock with a small key that she wore around her wrist. Both the box and the key were presents from her distant relative, her most beloved pen pal and trusted confidant. She treasured everything that Great Uncle Aro and Great Aunt Sulpicia sent her. A great deal of the decorations in her room, such as the glass-dipped orchid sitting in a crystal vase next to the keepsake box, were gifts she'd received over the years.

Bella hugs _The Tell-Tale Heart_ to her chest and settles into bed for the night, having already undergone her nightly ablations. Although it was Renee who impressed upon her the importance of proper self-care, it was Great Aunt Sulpicia who took to sending Bella an assortment of customized products from Volterra and Bella used these products ritually twice a day. The scent of her soaps and moisturizers and lotions was very subtle and consistent; Sulpicia insisted that a woman have a signature scent and Bella's was destined to be a thoughtful combination of tart pomegranates, sweet strawberries, and fragrant lilies. Bella didn't mind. It was easier if Sulpicia sent her these products as she appreciated not having the spend the time _thinking_ about what was best for her skin and hair. And anyway, she could tell it meant a lot to her Great Aunt, who had lost several children over the years.

If Bella was anything, she was at the very least empathetic - probably as often as she was apathetic, truly.

Prone on her bed, head cushioned by microfiber pillows, Bella decides that she quite likes the way her room turned out. The dusty purple paint complements the smoky plum bedding atop her mattress; the sheer white and grey curtains masked just enough ambient outdoor light that she felt the privacy without feeling closed in; the soft golden light of her lamp touched upon all the fine porcelain and glass figurine flowers spread across her nightstand, her window sill, and the top of her bookcase, drawing attention away from the sagging shelves that were all together over-stressed by the weight of her literary collection.

She might have to look for another case, soon, especially if Great Uncle Aro continued to send her such priceless editions, which she knew he would. He was very interested in cultivating her mind, expanding the breadth of her knowledge; the majority of her interest in obscure genres is due directly to his influence. She credits Aro's dedication to honoring her interests as the reason she has made it through the isolation of an advanced intelligence relatively unscathed. The escapism of literature was - a comfort.

Bella flips to the first page of _The Tell-Tale Heart_ , gingerly handling the old hardcover as she melts a square of dark-chocolate on her tongue. She tries to read the short story again through the eyes of her Great Uncle. She begins to see where he might find humor in the story - it is _funny_ , isn't it, a story about a man trying to plead his sanity while also confessing to a homicide. A black humor, to be sure. She begins to smile to herself, flipping to the next page, when Charlie clears his throat from her doorway.

She looks up, raising an inquisitive brow.

Charlie shifts, rubbing at the prickling hair on his jaw. There is a toothpaste stain on the collar of his sleep shirt that he either hadn't noticed or hadn't cared about. "You sure you don't want me to drive you to school tomorrow?"

Marking her page with another of Aunt Sulpicia's bookchains, this one a thicker gold, Bella shakes her head, placing her book on the edge of her nightstand. "Believe me, Dad, it's going to be hard enough being in classes with people _at least_ three years older than myself. The last thing I need is to stick out more by arriving in a police cruiser."

Charlie pulls a face. "Alright. I guess that's a pretty good reason."

"I do have a bit of insight to the issue that you might not," she points out dryly.

"Then you know how to get to the high school?"

"It's right off the highway, just like everything else," she confirms. "Really, Dad. It'll be fine. Walking won't kill me, you know."

At this, Charlie looks dubious. "Kid, have you _seen_ you walk?"

Bella gasps in mock outrage. They both know that she's not accident prone, just careless as most of her flirtations with accidents have happened as a direct result of simply not paying attention. "I'll have you know that it's everything else _besides_ walking that I have trouble with, thank you very much."

"You know, I've yet to see any proof…" he teases.

"Dad!"

Charlie holds his hands up with a twitch of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Goodnight, Bells. I…I'm real glad you're here."

Bella gentles, pulling her blankets closer. "Me too, Dad."

She waits until Charlie has gone to his room, bedframe creaking beneath his weight, before she turns out the lamp, twisting onto her side so that she can stare out the window until sleep takes her. If she's being honest, she just put up a pretty big false front with Charlie just now. Really, she was nervous about starting Forks High in the morning. Not only would she be the _new kid_ , but she would be in classes with seniors instead of freshmen and that wasn't anything to scoff at. But then, she'd been in classes with older kids since she started school, adding another gap during middle school when she jumped from sixth to seventh grade halfway through the year. Sometimes, the thought strikes her that she should have listened to Renee and stayed with her own peers - but she always dismisses it.

Bella is fifteen and about to be a senior in high school all due, by and large, to the sheer appetite of her reading habit and a memory like a steel trap. It had been her choice to skip grades; she'd been given options that she refused at the time, so _bored_ by her classes. Her refusal to stay with her peers hadn't been a mistake, of that she was sure.

She is not a social creature. She's never quite _fit_ with the other kids, regardless of their ages. And maybe it was because of that thing she can do that she _doesn't talk about_ \- _ever_ \- but maybe it's also because she just hasn't found her place in the world, yet. She isn't sure that Forks was a better option than Phoenix, but it was the option she chose. And if she didn't fit in here - well, there was always college. College at sixteen, though - just the thought makes her balk and it's an entire year away.

 _It's not so different, though. I'm not that much younger_ , she decides, slipping closer to the edge of sleep as each moment passes, her worries fading from the forefront of her mind.

And it is here - right on the cusp of sleep - that Bella is struck by a soothing of the soul. She just… _knows_ that she was meant to be in Forks, in the same way that she knew how sad Renee would have been with Phil traveling and in the same way she knew exactly how happy Charlie was to have her beneath his roof.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is August.

* * *

 **A/N: Take note of the chapter titles! I'm planning on this being about 12 chapters, probably of varying lengths but near this size? IDK. We're just…doing it, apparently. Each chapter is about a month-long timeframe. But then again, who the hell knows? I can tell you that SERPENTINE wasn't supposed to get that big that quick….Ignore this. Ignore me! I have no idea what I'm** _ **doing**_ **.**

 **Anyway.**

 **So, obviously I've changed several things about this and that will become more obvious as we go on. First and probably most importantly, Bella is 15 and she's starting Forks High with the rest of the senior class. Making her skip grades was a nod to the advanced mental capacity of vampires in general. Figured even 1/8th vampire would have some considerable cognitive juice. Also, she was born in 1999, so at this point in time, the year is 2014 and she is** _ **very firmly**_ **a Millennial. A mature one, sure, but a Millennial all the same. This will be interesting later because Edward is a Victorian, right? So how do you think the Victorians would react to Millennial's? (Scandalized. They would be scandalized) Also! I was always just a bit annoyed that SM limited Bella's literary interests to just the romantic classics. What, because girls only want to read harlequins? I mean, I do, but I also read other things and Russian lit really** _ **is**_ **amazing. There's an entire world of books out there and this Bella is serious about her reading. I love Jane Austen just as much as the next girl, but come on.**

 **And yes, Great-Uncle is how Aro is playing this. He couldn't very well be honest, now could he? How could he possibly explain really being her great-great-grandfather without being like, "Whoops, also I'm a vampire, surprise!" Plus, if he tried for any closer relation, then he'd have to explain why he didn't adopt Charlie as the closest blood kin and yadda yadda yadda. Go with it!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	3. two: september

**two**

 **september**

* * *

 **September: it was the most beautiful of words, he'd always felt, evoking orange-flowers, swallows, and regret.**

 **\- - - Alexander Theroux**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The sky is overcast, a blanket of droll grey clouds that sweep along the horizon in soft, thick wisps, trapping the heat of the sun on one side and the cool cleanse of rain on the other. The weakly filtered sunlight through cloud cover is what wakes Bella as it seeps into her room through the translucent gauze of her curtains. She rolls onto her back, instantly awake, and heaves a sigh. Already, she can tell that the day was going to be a classically muggy September; the seasonal change in Forks always seemed to eek on for days and then change in the blink of an eye.

September was a month that would draw out summer for as long as possible.

She readies for the day efficiently, washing her face with warm water and running a finely bristled wooden brush through her hair, which hangs in syrupy waves down to her middle back, dark as molasses and curling slightly at the ends. She doesn't bother with make-up, having never been interested in it and almost positive that the natural contrast of her dark lashes against her peaches-and-cream skin was more than enough to emphasize the unique mossy shade of her eyes. And, to Renee's great disappointment, she didn't have a clue about make up beyond the tinted balm of Burt's Bees that she slicks on her lips and tucks into her backpack. Bella dresses with the same indifference to the weather that she has always had, pulling on dark-wash shorts, a marled heather t-shirt beneath a loose-knit hunter green cardigan, knee-high grey socks, and a trusty pair of black Doc Martens.

It is the gargantuan task of selecting her books for the day that takes up the largest chunk of her morning. She has a habit of taking a book with her everywhere she goes, but for _school_ , she takes at least three so that she'll have something to read depending on her mood. She's almost done with _Resurrection_ , so that book goes into the bag, along with _A Bolt From the Blue and Other Essay_ s and _Fahrenheit 451_. It takes some time to arrange all of her books into her bag between also having to compensate for the binder and notebooks she has already packed away. When it dawns on her that she'll probably be taking home textbooks later, she huffs and transfers her extracurricular books into her woven satchel, which she slips over her head before fitting her arms into the straps of her backpack.

By the time she trudges downstairs, Charlie is long-gone but he has left the coffee pot on and she fills a spare thermos with relish, grabbing a handful of almonds from a jar on the counter on her way out the door. She navigates through the side streets until she comes to the highway, where she walks on the grassy shoulder meridian at a leisurely pace. Bella pulls _Resurrection_ out of her satchel, reading as she walks and sipping from the thermos as she goes. Her pace slows as she gets caught up in reading, but it's okay - she'd planned for that and she had plenty of time before school actually started.

She wouldn't admit to stalling. Which she _wasn't_.

A mile-long walk should only take twenty minutes, but Bella manages to stretch it out into an even half-hour. She pauses at the turn-off to the school, lingering by the moss-covered brick reading _FORKS HIGH SCHOOL_ \- just as she plans to take a step off the curb and scuttle off to orientation, two cars screech into a turn off the highway and zoom into the parking lot. She scowls at the shiny silver Volvo and the admittedly _very_ cool cherry red BMW, then scoffs to herself when she catches the familiar strains of _Debussy_ filtering out of the silver car.

 _A bit pretentious_ , she thinks around another swig of too-strong coffee. She doesn't stand around in that spot for long, though, weary of being run over by other reckless drivers.

Bella has been to Forks High exactly once - a week ago to register for classes and argue with a guidance counselor that _really, yes, I'm sure that I want to take those classes_ \- but her memory serves her well. It isn't difficult to locate the gymnasium, which is packed with fresh-faced fourteen and fifteen year olds, the new freshman class that Bella was not actually a part of. She'd argued about this, too, but ultimately Charlie had been the one to insist that she probably should attend orientation, just so she would be on the same page with the rest of the school. Advanced classes or not, she still had to find her locker and locate classrooms. Orientation helped with that and, honestly, what was an hour of her time, especially when it only took up a block of time for homeroom and half of first-period?

If she got bored, she would do what she normally did: read.

Bella selects a seat low on the bleachers, tucking the too-long sleeves of her cardigan over her hands. A marginal measure of protection, should anyone feel like a handshake and Bella fervently _hoped_ that nobody would. Her seat is buffered by several feet of empty space, which is what she had intended - but as Principal Greene calls the freshmen to attention, a group of four converge on the empty seats.

Bella stiffens subtly. The girl sitting next to her with a head full of bouncy highlighted curls notices the movement and beams, showing off a bright white smile. "Hi! I'm Jessica Stanley! Aren't you excited? Oh, _my God_ , this is _so cool_. High school. Can you believe it?"

"It had to happen eventually," Bella responds dryly.

Jessica giggles, nudging the boy next to her - a personification of the American Dream, all blonde hair and blue eyes - with her elbow. "This is Mike," she says, then quickly points at a handful of students within ear shot. Bella manages to identify three others between Jessica's motor-mouth enthusiasm: an icy blonde named Lauren with a snub nose and snooty attitude to match, an Asian boy named Eric Yorkie who has a demeanor that is _exactly_ like the dog of his namesake, and broad-shouldered Tyler, whose smile is slow and easy. Not a single one of them are paying attention to the Principal as he rushes through the welcome speech, _not_ that it's terribly informative anyway.

Bella comes away from orientation with no information that she couldn't have figured out from a map and with Jessica Stanley's successful discovery of her name. Ordinarily, Bella might have been uncomfortable with the attention, but Jessica flits between everyone in her group so easily, commanding attention with her bubbly personality. She has the notion that Jessica would be crowned Prom Queen in four years and win because she was genuinely well-liked by the student body. She's almost sad that she'll miss seeing that. Almost.

The coaches and a few freshmen-only teachers usher the hoard of students toward the book depository, which moves along at a fast clip. Apparently, freshmen only get to take home a few books because all the rest are meant to stay in the classroom. Bella discovers that this is most assuredly not the case with senior-level classes. While the librarian disappears into the textbook closet, Bella crosses her arms over her chest, hunching her shoulders just a bit when the murmurs behind her grow after the librarian disappears _again_ to gather the second half of the books necessary for Bella's classes. Bella mutters a hasty _thank-you_ and turns, weighed down by no less than seven textbooks; with the spines facing out, it's impossible to hide the fact that Bella's books are _not_ the same that Jessica and her group have received.

Mike's jaw drops. "Uh, that's not…Algebra I."

Bella shakes her head, bracing herself for a scene of social rejection that is not at all unfamiliar. It _always_ happened; teenagers weren't a forgiving breed, even less when others don't fit the mold, which Bella most certainly did _not_. This, right here and at this moment? _This_ is why she dreaded first days and why she carried three extra books with her to school. She didn't think she would ever be able to explain just how uncomfortable moments like this were. She's glad that she's not touching any of them; she would hate to know what any of these strangers were thinking at the moment.

"No, it's not," she agrees hesitantly, adjusting the books where the covers have begun to pinch at her skin through her cardigan. "I guess I should have mentioned it before, but I won't be taking classes with you. I've skipped a few grades."

The group - and surrounding students who are obviously listening in - is silent for a protracted moment while Bella edges away from the book depository, making room for the next student in line. Jessica is the first to bounce back, whereas the rest of her friends seem unsettled and unsure of how to proceed. Bless the girl who keeps the mood light. "We'll totally see you at lunch though," she says brightly, forging past the awkward moment with admirable tenacity. "Right? You can sit with us and I'll finish introducing you to everyone and _you_ can dish on all the hot upperclassmen."

"That would be great," Bella smiles gently, trying to convey her honest gratitude that Jessica had made the situation dramatically less awkward that it might have otherwise been by using social skills that Bella just simply had not ever felt the need to cultivate. She is amused to note, however, that Lauren's expression is more sour in light of this development and that Erik appears more curious. Tyler and Mike relax, too. She supposes that towns as small as Forks very rarely have students that skip even one grade - or students that are held back a year. She understands why the faltered. "Anyway, I'd better get going…I'm already late for my first class."

"See you later!" Jessica calls, her words quickly echoed by the boys in a cluster of still-breaking voices.

Bella nods, biting her lip and turning on her heel in search for her locker. _That could have gone better,_ she thinks _, but it also could have gone worse_.

She's just glad that she hasn't completely alienated her age-mates yet, just in case she _did_ alienate her actual classmates, which was a distinct possibility. That, too, was something that happened all too often.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

After locating and successfully opening her locker and depositing most of her books and her empty thermos, Bella glances at the map laid out over the hardcover of her Trigonometry textbook, compares the map with her schedule for her room number, and then trots off in the direction of the quickest route. Forks High is not like other schools, arranged within a singular large building; rather, it is a collection of multiple smaller buildings with awning-covered walkways branching off from a larger building in the center-front that housed the administrative offices, library, and cafeteria, with the gymnasium set toward the far side of the school near the track-and-field. She thinks it will be hardest to adjust to the outdoor lockers; she doesn't look forward to the biting winter months.

Because of orientation, she arrives to the right classroom well after the half-way mark of the class. The teacher, Mr. Varner, is not best pleased and he - sadistically - makes her stay at the front of the room and introduce herself to an entire class of older students. She levels him with a blank look, then turns to the class and says flatly, "I'm Bella Swan and _yes_ , I am meant to be in this class."

"Sit down, Swan," says Varner, gesturing to the whiteboard at his back. "You're lucky this is the first day and that we haven't covered a lot of ground. Take notes and don't be late again. Tardiness is not tolerated."

"In my defense, I did try to get out of the freshmen orientation, but I promise I won't be tardy in the future," she replies coolly, moving down the aisle to the only free seat, which happens to be in the back of the room next to a striking girl with honey-blonde hair and familiar amber eyes.

Mr. Varner doesn't dignify her back-talk with a response, but he does write the next equations in a firmer hand and then tries to make an example of her toward the end of class, calling her to the front to try and solve the warm-up problem that rested in the upper corner of the whiteboard. Bella, having quickly caught up with meticulous notes, stands and deconstructs the equation in bright red ink. She caps the marker with a sweet smile, stepping back while Mr. Varner examines her work. He shoots her a skeptical glance, but nods and dismisses the class. Bella wonders if maybe they had reached some sort of silent truce. Is it strange if she hopes that's not the case? She was so rarely challenged by teachers.

Spurred on by the ringing bell, Bella collects her things and heads off to the next class, following the mental map in her head to the self-study rooms branching off from the library. It had taken an awful lot of arguing for the school to even let her do independent study for Italian; she'd had to prove that she passed Spanish at a high-school level and it was cumbersome enough that she might have just settled. Charlie had pulled for her, though. Later, he would tell her that it was because he'd settled far too often in school and that he wanted her to push limits wherever she could. She thinks she gets it; both of her parents were proud of her academic prowess, Charlie more than Renee most of the time. He might see something in her that he hadn't been able to achieve, but times were different now and Bella had more opportunities than her parents.

The next hour passes quickly as she familiarizes herself with the program the school had chartered for her to learn Italian independently. Bella has an edge, of course, already being fluent in Spanish. She wonders if she might have to try a different language next semester if she masters Italian by December.

She stops off at her locker before her next class - Physics - which is taught by Mr. Banner, who seemed to be generally overworked; he was the science teacher for both the seniors and the juniors and he covered Biology, Chemistry, Physics, and Environmental Science in the spring. He was nice, though, and didn't kick up a fuss by her obvious age. She's glad that she's not late for this class; she draws significantly less attention as she settles into one of the rear lab benches, organizing her workspace with readied pens, her notebook opened to a new section, and her physics text already opened to the page written on the board. It's as she's searching for a highlighter that she registers the weight of eyes on the side of her face.

Bella looks up and then sharply to the left. The striking honey-blonde girl from her trig class is seated next to what Bella can only describe as one _hulking_ example of the male form. Both stare at her with those oddly-colored eyes - the girl with indifference and the dark-haired boy - _man_ , really, because he is positively massive and _obviously_ at least eighteen - grins widely. She quirks a brow at them. The boy's smile grows wider and he turns to say something to the blonde, who raps him on the back of the head by way of response. When Mr. Banner does the roll-call, she learns that the names of the amber-eyed student are Rosalie Hale and Emmett Cullen.

 _Cullen, like Esme Cullen who helped me at Home Depot? It's not like Cullen is a common name, so this must be her son._

Bella turns away, abandoning her search for a highlighter, deciding that she must have left it in the library. It wasn't such a tragedy; she had another half-dozen in her desk at home. More importantly, Bella discovers halfway through Physics that she would have to _work_ to keep up with the material, a fact that delights her to no end. She makes a notation in her notebook to find a bookstore nearby so that she can raid it for physics treatises. Or she could skip the bookstore and simply mention her new interest to Great Uncle Aro; he probably had an entire section of his library dedicated to Einstein, Hawking, and the like.

For fourth period, her class is an English course for this semester that is focused on the collective works Shakespeare; a cursory glance at the reading list reveals that Bella already owns all the plays covered in the curriculum and that the lit textbook on her desk has the relevant sonnets. Good. She had hoped to test out of English - her best subject - but Forks High had a policy against more than one elective a semester and she was pushing her luck with her independent study. Maybe the class would surprise her, but she honestly assumes that she'll be spending the majority of this class doing extracurricular reading.

Lunch is when the day finally gets interesting and at first that's because she finally has the time to crack open _A Bolt From the Blue and Other Essay_ s after rushing through the lunch line to buy an apple and settle down at an empty table near the windows lining the side of the cafeteria. She is contentedly biting through the shiny red skin of the apple when the table shudders at the arrival of a dozen freshmen converging upon it. Bella's eyes widen and she makes to leave, but then Jessica is slipping into the seat beside her, happily drawing everyone into conversation about the first day of school. Jessica makes a point to introduce Bella to a girl named Angela, who is equally as quiet and more apt to observe the conversation; Bella takes Angela's allowance for observation as permission to go back to her reading and Jessica doesn't object until something apparently vital catches her attention.

It takes Jessica a good three tries before she pulls Bella away from her book and by then her eyes are bulging with excitement and her whisper is not as hushed as it probably should have been. "Do you _see_ them?" she asks, ticking her head twice to a group on the far side of the cafeteria.

Bella follows her gaze, catching sight of five students - two of whom she was somewhat familiar with. "Oh," she says dispassionately.

" _Oh_?" Jessica echoes incredulously. "Just _oh_? Bella! Look at them! I've never seen such gorgeous people in my life! Oh, I wonder who they are - seniors, right? They _have_ to be…Hey, do you have any classes with them? Do you know who they are?"

Bella sighs, placing her bookmark in _A Bolt From the Blue and Other Essay_ s and closing the cover. She looks again to the table of very attractive teenagers - Jessica is right about that - and examines them critically. All pale, all with the same amber eyes with a shade or two of difference, and all with none of the same features; jawlines, noses, heights, and hair colors are all different. There aren't any two that could pass for siblings, so Bella thinks they must be their own clique or something, even though Forks High didn't seem to observe cliques in the traditional sense, with jocks mingling among all tables, including her own.

"The tall girl with the blonde hair? That's Rosalie Hale," Bella says to Jessica after a moment. "The guy who looks like he can lift a car is Emmett Cullen. I don't know any of the others."

"Bummer," Jessica sighs dreamily, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "I was hoping you would know who the one with the reddish hair is…"

Bella shrugs, itching to get back to her book - but then something odd happens. The boy Jessica had been talking about, the lanky one with hair that shone bronze under florescent lights, he turns and looks right at their table, as if someone had called his name, and then turns away dismissively. Like reflex. But that couldn't be possible - he couldn't have known that they were talking about him or any of the others, right? Except that when she looks more closely at the table, she notices that the dark-haired girl with the pixie cut is staring at her with bemusement and that Rosalie Hale is staring - maybe glaring - too.

Unsettled, Bella tucks the sleeves of her cardigan around her fingers, then says to Jessica, "If you really want to know, why don't you try asking a sophomore?"

Jessica gasps, eyes lighting up. "Oh, that's a _great_ idea," she breathes before she darts up, tugging Lauren behind her in her quest to find out the names that belong to the super-model worthy faces at the other end of the cafeteria.

The boys are largely uninterested by the conversation and turn to other topics once Jessica leaves, but Angela chews on her lip, casting a worried glance of her shoulder. Her eyes raise to meet Bella's, her voice barely a whisper. "Don't they seem sort of…dangerous?"

Bella pauses, considering the question as her head tilts. Her gaze flits toward the table again, catching first Rosalie's eyes, then eyes of the boy with the reddish hair. Do they look dangerous? Bella didn't think so. Certainly _intimidating_ , but she didn't feel fearful when she looks at any of them, including the massive form of Emmett Cullen. The seemed secular, complete unto themselves, and largely out of her realm of interests. Maybe if they were doing something other than sitting around looking gorgeous she would have a different opinion.

She shrugs, offers Angela a moue of disinterest, and turns back to her book. "No," she says simply. "They're just people."

"Just people," Angela repeats, shoulders relaxing as she nods. "You're right. I'm just being silly."

Bella hums, flipping to the page where she left off, and Angela drifts back into silently listening to the boisterous conversation that has taken over the rest of the group.

When lunch is over, though, and Bella stands with her backpack holstered and book tucked into her arm, her gaze is unwittingly drawn back to the table that had dominated the lunch discussion. The boy with the reddish hair is still looking at her, but this time his expression is frustrated as he ignores the pixie-haired girl chirping at him from across the table.

Bella turns away without a second thought.

Her fifth period class promises to be interesting. The teacher, Mrs. Kelley, calls the roll and then launches into a detailed explanation about what she would expect from the class. Bella's favorite part is the promise of debate. "This is a participation class," says Mrs. Kelley, hands on her hips. "We might be learning about Modern World History in this classroom, but I want to see evidence of real thinking. And for that, we need discussion. I expect critical thinking every day from each and every one of you. If you have a problem with that, if you don't think you'll be able to keep up, then I encourage you to visit Mrs. Cope in the front office at the end of the day and transfer yourself to a different history course."

Bella sits up straight at this, an unbidden smile gracing her face - and she is not the only one. For the fourth time that day, she has managed to find a seat at the back of the classroom right next to a student with amber eyes. This one's name is Jasper Hale, presumably the brother of Rosalie Hale, as they share the same shade of honey-blond hair, although Jasper's is curly, long enough to tuck behind his ears. Bella notices that they also share a similar baseline for pinched facial expressions and guesses that they might have the same prickly disposition. She ignores Jasper Hale just as readily as she ignores his sister.

Unfortunately, Bella's next class is a bit of a throw-away. She'd needed a physical education credit and had no intentions of spending her last year - honestly, her second year - of high school running around the gym, so she opted to take a Nutrition course instead. Flipping through the textbook, she notes that it isn't going to be much different from the anatomy course she took in Phoenix, just with more emphasis on macronutrients. She suppresses a sigh, slumping a bit in her seat as she twists her neck to stare out the window to the right, only to meet the friendly gaze of the pixie-haired girl with - yes - _amber_ eyes.

 _Allison_? She wonders, casting her mind back to the first half of this period. _No, Alice. Alice Cullen and her strange eyes that strangely match the eyes of two people she's not related to_ exactly _._

Bella makes a very conscious decision to not ruminate on this. She wasn't curious like Jessica was. She could care less about the Cullens and the Hales and so she spends the rest of sixth period delving into _Fahrenheit 451_ , a personal favorite that had once belonged to Charlie.

Her very last class of the day is an art elective - Ceramics - that did not require any additional materials. Since her locker is on the way to the art building, Bella makes a pit-stop to put away her textbooks and hang her backpack inside; she doesn't have any homework yet, so there was no reason to lug it back home. Only, inexplicably, her locker is jammed and since she's too stubborn to simply try again after class, she spends a good three minutes messing with the lock until it clicks open. Should she buy her own if the school's lock is faulty? Probably a good idea. Charlie would approve.

The delay with her locker has made her late to class, though. She rushes through the outdoor hallways, not really paying attention to where she's going, and that is why she is so completely blind-sighted when - completely out of the blue - she is halted in her tracks by a brick wall.

Or, actually, by a stone-hard chest and two vice-like hands on the top of her arms that prevent her from falling to the ground.

Bella looks up, startled, and meets eyes that are pitch-black - eyes that are so dilated that they are all pupil with a very, very faint ring of burnished gold around the edge of the iris. The eyes are set into a breathtakingly lovely face of angular bones beneath taut pale skin, heavy brows, and a full-mouth pulled back to reveal an upper row of slick white teeth. She pulls her focus back, taking in the tall, lanky form currently doing his best to bruise her with his long fingers digging into her flesh. Bronze hair. The frustrated one. The beautiful one.

Or he might have been if he didn't look like he legitimately wanted to murder her at the moment.

Her pulse jumps, heart rabbiting in her chest, and his lips curl further away from his teeth. Bella's breath catches. She doesn't understand what's happening - and she so very rarely _doesn't understand_. She remains still, some instinct in the back of her mind screaming that she _should not move_. She tries not to, swallowing heavily. His eyes track the movement of her throat, growing blacker by the second if that was even possible.

"Edward, no!"

Bella's eyes flick to the side, marginally startled by the sudden appearance of Alice Cullen, who is staring at Edward in naked horror.

Between the space of one heartbeat and the next, Bella's back connects with the row of unforgiving lockers as the boy named _Edward_ crowds her against them, black eyes still unblinking in spite of the fact that he appears to be growling with undisguised menace. She winces at the impact, then freezes again, scarcely breathing.

"Think of Carlisle," Alice cries. "He would be so disappointed!"

Bella doesn't have any idea what Alice is talking about - who was Carlisle? - and it doesn't seem like Edward particularly cares. His posture changes again in a flash, head dipping lower - dipping close enough that his nose ghosts against the side of her neck. He inhales, long and deep. Savoring.

She trembles.

"Edward," says another voice. Jasper Hale, stepping around the corner, also with black eyes and an aggressive stance, reaching one hand toward Edward's back, as if to quell by touch.

And then Emmett Cullen from the other side with Rosalie Hale, each of them looking fit to grab Edward and drag him away from her at a moments notice. She wonders why they haven't _done it yet_ \- clearly Edward wasn't _stable_. He was _sniffing_ her, for God's sake, and none of the Cullens or Hales seemed very happy about it.

"Step away from the girl, Edward," Emmett rumbles, brow knit tight. "This isn't the Cullen way."

Edward growls again, moving faster than a flash to curl his hand around Bella's throat and physically lift her from the ground by several inches. She scrambles, heels banging against the lockers, breath coming in panic-fueled gasps as Edward snarls, _"Mine_!"

Bella cringes, hands coming up to pull at his immobile fingers in the futile hope of loosening his steely grip -

All it takes is a touch.

… _.Kill, drink, killkillkill…So sweet, that blood, I must taste it….It's mine….Killdrinktastebitebitebite…she's_ mine….

Edward's mind is chaos, a cornucopia of noise and scent and emotions strong enough to still the beat of her heart - and his thoughts are black, both with intent and with self-loathing even as he contemplates what her blood might taste like, and how much he could drink before anyone could stop him, and what it would feel like to be wrapped up in all that human-like _warmth,_ inside and outside and-

Bella has never felt a mind like that before, so dynamic and complex and absolutely twisted around itself. In that split-second of contact, she feels like her nerves are set alight, like her brain simply can't process so much at once. Warmth drips down from her nose a moment after she begins clawing at Edward's hands and his intent to harm her intensifies - but so too does her resolve to _survive_.

And Bella does something that she has never done before.

She presses her hands against the one at her throat, digging her nails into diamond-hard skin even as he darts forward - in for the kill - and she _pushes_ her mind forward like a wrecking ball.

She thinks only one thing: _NO._

Instantly, Edward releases her, clutching at his head with a cry of pain. Bella crumples on the floor, gasping and grasping at her over-warm throat, watching as Rosalie Hale and Emmett Cullen flash toward a still-cringing Edward almost faster than they eye can see, hooking arms around Edward's lean body and literally dragging him away, blurring with their speed. She blinks at the place where Edward was for a long moment before turning wide eyes to Alice Cullen and Jasper Hale.

They stare at each other - silent.

"Alice," Jasper murmurs, eyes still black. "She's bleedin'. I have to go."

Alice nods and Jasper flashes away in the same direction Edward had been dragged off to. Only, Alice doesn't really seem to _be all there_ , right? She's gazing at nothing, still as stone, and Bella is reeling. It had all happened _so fast_.

But what was _it_? What was _Edward?_ And was he the same _thing_ as the Cullens and the Hales?

Even in a situation like this, though, Bella's mind is lightning quick. Her conclusion is unerring because there is only one logical explanation, especially with all the emphasis on blood over the last few moments. Jasper couldn't stay because she was _bleeding_. Edward wanted to _drink_ her _blood_. Amber eyes. Pale skin. Strength. Speed. Preternatural beauty, if that even counted at this point.

"Vampire," she breathes, wiping at the blood from her nose. Her head aches something fierce, spitting and hissing like an overloaded power outlet.

Alice Cullen startles from her trance, trailing her eyes over Bella. She doesn't offer confirmation, but she doesn't really need to. Bella _knows_. Later, she'll realize that it wasn't just the obvious clues that she'd observed, that she'd absorbed from Edward's mind; later, she'll realize that she knew because something in her shifted the moment Edward Cullen touched her skin.

"You won't bruise," is all Alice says before she, too, disappears in a blur of too-fast movement.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Alice was right. Bella didn't bruise. She felt like she _should_ have, though, because her throat still twinges and throbs when she gets home. But when she examines her skin in the newly-painted mirror in the bathroom, there isn't even a shadow of a blemish.

She sits on the tiled floor for a long while, going over every prolonged millisecond in detail, pulling herself together before Charlie comes home. He doesn't suspect anything over dinner and she goes to bed early, staring at her ceiling for long hours.

The next day, Edward Cullen isn't at school.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Great Uncle Aro,_

 _Alright. I stand corrected. While Poe certainly_ is _an acquired taste,_ The Tell-Tale Heart _is universally pleasing to all audiences. You were right, but you already knew that since you were ever-so confident that I would eventually see your side of things. This reminds me of the time where you were so aghast by my ignorance of female philosophers that you - somehow - managed to dig up what I am sure are priceless writings of Hypatia that should have burned in Alexandria. Always so, so confident that you can change my mind. Curse you for being right so often, Uncle!_

 _And when will you ever tell me how you managed to obtain Hypatia's writings? Or is it still a secret that can only be revealed when I visit you in Volterra? By the way, Uncle, that is such a very queer request, but I'll allow it for the time being._

 _Speaking of secrets, though…Could I ask you for some advice? What do you do when you know a secret about somebody that changes everything? And what if that secret is potentially dangerous for other people? Do you keep the secret in the hope that it will resolve itself in time, or do you push for more secrets until you're sure that the danger isn't as dangerous as it first seemed?_

 _And Uncle, what do you do if revealing this secret could cause bigger problems than the problem already at play?_

 _Please tell Aunt Sulpicia that my mother did finally talk me into piercing my ears over the summer and that it did not hurt nearly as much as I thought it would. I don't know what I was so afraid of. What does she think of me getting another piercing - like one on my cartilage?_

 _All my love,_

 _Your Great-Grandniece Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The week following what Bella begins to privately refer to as The Incident, the remaining Hales and Cullens give her a considerably wide berth at school - quite an impressive feat, considering that the school was quite small and that she shared most of her classes with at least one of them.

Bella is glad for the distance. It gives her time to think, to mull over what happened and what it meant now that she _knew_ something about all of them that she would guess very, very few people knew. In the meantime, she takes the time to unobtrusively observe them and she is frequently struck by how _normal_ they seem despite the rather glaring evidence of vampirism that sticks out now that she knows what to look for. Emmett Cullen in particular behaves the most human of them all, shifting in his seat and barking out laughter. By contrast, Jasper Hale seems the least comfortable with the human facade, almost too-still, too-silent. Alice, she notices, is almost as ill-fit for acting human, though her issue mostly seems to be with randomly spacing out in the middle of class.

Rosalie Hale, though, is different. She watches Bella just as much as Bella watches her - and over the course of the week, her expression transitions from hostile to suspicious to almost blatantly skeptical. Bella figures that Rosalie is waiting for the other shoe to drop; now that Edward Cullen had revealed what they all were, it was almost inevitable that Bella would sing like a canary.

Right? Except, wrong.

Bella watches them, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, and decides that she'd been right when she told Angela that the Hales and the Cullens were just _people_. In spite of The Incident, Bella didn't feel that claw of danger in her hind brain that everyone else at Forks High seemed to feel. Even with all that she'd seen, she didn't think the Cullens and Hales were _dangerous._ All the other students, all the teachers, they all _reacted_ to something about these pretenders - something that apparently didn't register with Bella at all.

Was she desensitized to the danger, now?

But, no, because she hadn't felt _danger_ even _before_ The Incident. Angela had sensed apex predator from across the lunchroom and, Jessica and Lauren's fascination notwithstanding, that seemed to be the norm.

Bella - she doesn't feel it.

If anything, she's curious. How do they do it? And why go to _high school_? And was Esme Cullen, that kindly helpful woman from Home Depot, also a vampire? What about Carlisle, whoever he was?

So, after a week of cataloguing behavior and assessing the Hales and Cullens, she returns to reading her books and sitting next to them in class _on purpose_. As if nothing was wrong.

Because nothing _was_ wrong.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The next week, Edward Cullen still hasn't come back to school.

Bella doesn't know what to make of it, but at least his siblings and the Hales have relaxed around her, as if taking her lack of panic as permission to go back to their little daily act.

Well, except for Rosalie Hale, who has finally seemed to settle on being _stumped_ by Bella's behavior.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

It's kind of pathetic, but Mr. Varner _really_ doesn't like Bella. He's taken her presence in his senior-level Trigonometry class as some sort of challenge and as such, he spends an inordinate amount of time calling her to the front of the room or calling her out for reading during his lectures. He's yet to trip her up, though, and it appears to be getting to him.

Bella can't really help that math is so easy for her, though. It just _clicks_. Once she's learned it, she's _learned_ it. And she doesn't understand why Mr. Varner is so strung-up by her success in his class. Shouldn't he feel accomplished as a teacher for being able to teach the subject so well? Bella knows they got off to a rough start, but honestly, by week three at Forks High, she was hoping that he would have _gotten over it already_.

So, when he calls her up to the board _again_ , Bella sighs just a touch too loud and Mr. Varner's eyes narrow. "Hale, you too," he barks, stepping up to the board to scribble a second equation next to the first. "Swan, see if you can solve this faster than Hale. Whoever wins gets out of the quiz on Friday."

Bella reaches the board right after Rosalie, shooting Mr. Varner a baleful look when she realizes that Rosalie's equations was one that they had already gone over as a class and that _her_ equation was new. How _fair_ of him. She bites her tongue, though, and sets to deconstructing the equation, finishing within seconds of Rosalie but still finishing last. She sighs. Bella doesn't really care about getting out of a quiz, but this challenge hadn't even been fair in the first place -

And that's when she notices, right at the same time that Mr. Varner does, that Rosalie Hale had solved the problem _wrong._

Bella's eyes fly to Rosalie, startled, because there was just _no way_ that the mistake wasn't deliberate. They had _just_ gone over Rosalie's equation; and even if they hadn't, Rosalie did very, very well in this class and definitely knew the right answer. And Rosalie is outright smirking as she glides back to her desk while Mr. Varner grumbles and erases the board with more strength than is strictly necessary. Bella sits back down, head swiveled toward Rosalie in stupefaction.

"I do not tolerate double standards," says Rosalie.

It feels - unbelievably - like some kind of acceptance and Bella just _doesn't know what that means_.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella turns fifteen on September 18th. It's a Thursday, which is kind of underwhelming, but the day that greets her is sunny, a rarity in Forks. After pulling her hair into a high ponytail and dressing in an customary assortment of shorts, socks, boots, and cardigan, Bella trots downstairs to discover that Charlie must have gone to the only bakery Forks has before he officially left for work. Sitting on the table, still warm and decorated with a single blue candle, is a _massive_ cinnamon roll topped with icing and candied pecans. Her favorite.

Underneath the plate is a note that reads in Charlie's spiky handwriting _HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BELLS_ , followed by a reminder that Renee would be calling from the road after school. Beside that are two brown paper-wrapped packages with a familiar thick white envelope affixed to the front of the first, sealed with red wax and her Great Uncle's impressive ornate script.

Bella's lips stretch wide. She fixes herself a cup of coffee, gorges on half of the cinnamon roll, and carefully unwraps the first package, which is in the unmistakable shape of a book. Her brows shoot up once she reads the cover because it's a _modern_ book and Great Uncle Aro seldom sent moderns. She flips to the front matter of _Secrets: On the Ethics of Concealment and Revelation_ and hums thoughtfully. Leave it to Great Uncle Aro to provide her with a _reference_. She shakes her head, moving to the second package, which is smaller and from Great Aunt Sulpicia. Her breath catches after she pries open the rich brown leather box, tracing her fingers over the _fine_ circular rubies set into a delicate silver-wrought filigree earrings. She doesn't hesitate to slip the studs into her ears before she works the wax sealing away from the back of her letter.

 _Dearest Isabella,_

 _While I am gratified that you have changed your mind in regard to the most esteemed Edgar Allen Poe, I confess that I have grown quite concerned over the issues of which you are asking advice. Tell me, precious, are_ you _in danger? Or are you merely concerned for a new friend, perhaps? I am quite anxious to know the answers to these questions._

 _In answer to your questions, I find that I cannot provide sufficient advice without first knowing the secret - but I shall not pry to know the specifics of this secret you have discovered, precious. I will respect your decision to keep or reveal a secret, as it is always your choice. However, as I am sure you have already discovered, I have sent along a book for you to read that might answer your queries as it elucidates the morality of secrets and secret keeping._

 _I will say that, personally, the act of secret keeping is not something I consider to be immoral. Rather, if it is within your ability, keeping a secret is often a solution and a mercy. Never forget that secrets are secret for a reason, darling. Yet…if it keeps you and your interest safe, then perhaps that is how you should decide whether or not to keep a secret. And then again, perhaps not. I am afraid that of all the inquires you could demand of me, this is not something that I may decide for you._

 _This letter has grown quite heavy, dearest, and so I shall pass along a message from my wife. In answer to another of your questions, Sulpicia intones that "so long as you do not wear jewels below your station, I see no reason as to why you should not indulge in decorating your body as you see fit". I believe that this is intended to be permission and encouragement. And while I am dubious myself, I have been informed that my opinion is not wanted in such matters. I suppose I shall hold my tongue, then, or risk the wrath of my wife._

 _Also, my precious love, I offer my most joyous congratulations on this, your fifteen birthday. It is quite the momentous occasion._

 _My eternal heart,_

 _Aro_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella's choice of reading for the next few days is dedicated to _Secrets: On the Ethics of Concealment and Revelation_. It is not very often that she reads philosophy, mostly because it takes so long to reconcile the reading with her own thoughts. Fiction is much easier. Philosophy requires deep critical thought and a great deal of attention. Ordinarily, when she reads philosophy, she breaks it up with healthy doses of fiction to cleanse the pallet, so to speak.

However, it's much too important that she understand the implications of her decision to keep this secret she inadvertently discovered, and Bella persists in reading - and re-reading - the book for the next several days. She hardly pays attention in class or at lunch, and even Charlie notices her preoccupation with the book. If he has anything to say about the content of the book, he keeps it to himself.

At the end though, after reading certain chapters for a third time, Bella places the book on her over-loaded shelf, unfaltering in her decision and assured more than ever that it was indisputably for the moral good of everyone involved, including innocent humans, that this is one secret that must absolutely be kept.

She sleeps very well that night.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The sun doesn't clear from the Forks sky until the following Thursday and that is when the Hales and the Cullens - all except for Edward, of course - return to classes. Bella hears a rumor from Jessica that _apparently_ the Hales and the Cullens always skip school on sunny days, something about hiking that Bella doesn't buy for a _second_. She's relatively certain that their absence has something to do with exposure to the sun. Do they burn? If so, that would explain why they chose _Forks_ of all places, given that it's the cloudiest town in the continental United States.

She wants to ask, but she doesn't dare break whatever silent impasse she and Rosalie Hale have come to.

She minds her business, once again back to her normal routine at school and at home, introducing Charlie to foods that were _much_ better than his old diet of fast food and Harry Clearwater's fish-fry. She's almost certain that she's won him over with the dumpling soup she'd made over the weekend, mykyrokka, a recipe Bella learned from Great Aunt Sulpicia. At least, he's finally stopped holding his breath for the first bite of any new dish she puts on his plate. That was some sort of progress.

Of course, she couldn't have predicted that _Alice_ would not honor the standing impasse that Rosalie had struck nearly two weeks earlier. In their Nutrition class, on the last day of September and quite out of the blue, Alice Cullen snaps out of her weird trance, turns to Bella and announces brightly and with no small amount of relief, "He's coming back!"

There's only _one_ person Bella can think of that could possibly be returning, only one person that Alice _Cullen_ could possibly be talking about that would in any way impact _Bella_.

Edward.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is September.

* * *

 **A/N: So, first, if you're at all interested in Ethics, totally read the book that Aro sent Bella. It's fantastic. Second - eep, right? I totally have an explanation for why Edward was so aggressive. It's kind of suggested in Twilight/Midnight Sun that the only reason he didn't immediately chow down was because there were too many witnesses. So of course I had to wonder, "But what if there weren't any witnesses?" What of his self-control** _ **then**_ **?**

 **Also, that soup (and other random foods in this story)? Yeah, very deliberately chosen, okay, and they all have one very important ingredient in common. Kudos to anyone who figures it out before I actually reveal it in-story.**

 **All the reviews are so encouraging! Thank you, everyone, for reading!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	4. three: october

**three**

 **october**

* * *

 **O hushed October morning mild,**

 **Begin the hours of this day slow.**

 **Make the day seem to us less brief.**

 **\- - - Robert Frost "October"**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Edward Cullen comes back to Forks High on October 1st with a frankly flamboyant amount of fanfare. Bella is less than impressed to discover that _he_ is the driver on that shiny silver Volvo that grounded her to the curb on the first day of school - he does it again today, zipping into the school parking lot and climbing out of his car, this time with his eyes already locked on her from over a hundred feet away.

She stares back, waiting for a fissure of fear to race up her spine, her mind flashing back to The Incident with vivid recall. It never comes. She never feels afraid even when - logically - she knew that she _should_. He'd wanted to kill her, that much was an undeniable fact. Where was her sense of self-preservation? Why wasn't she reacting the way prey should to predator?

She couldn't answer any of that adequately and she didn't have a ready-made response to Edward Cullen's heavy gaze studying her with an air of anticipation. And so she turns away to continue walking toward the school, reading and walking, just as she had every morning for a month. For her, Edward returning to school didn't mean _anything._

Except to the rest of the student body, it did matter a great deal. She hadn't realized just how _fascinating_ the Cullens and the Hales were - or more like, she just couldn't muster enough interest to care. Honestly, aside from the whole _vampire_ thing, they were pretty boring. They generally flew under the radar, getting good grades but not great grades, not enough to steal the top spots in the junior and senior classes; none of them were involved in the Forks athletic teams, even though the coaches obviously wished differently in Emmett's case; they didn't participate in the admittedly few clubs sponsored by the school; and they didn't really talk to anyone aside from themselves and the teachers. They didn't even show up for Picture Day. Which, she supposed, was part of the idea. Draw the least amount of attention as possible. Don't be remembered.

She wonders where hoisting a fellow student up by the throat fell on that scale - and then dismisses the thought for its inanity. Obviously, judging by the reactions of the Cullens and Hales on that day, The Incident was an extremely unusual occurrence. Something about _her_ made Edward snap.

Would that happen again now that he'd returned?

And where did he _go_ , anyway?

In Trigonometry, she sits at the desk in the back adjacent to Rosalie, who is once again watching her carefully. _Waiting to see when I'll freak out about Edward_ , Bella guesses. Deliberately, Bella cracks open the spine of her textbook and readies her pen for Mr. Varner's lecture. A silent message: nothing has changed.

Of course, by the time Physics rolls around, Bella fiercely misses Rosalie's subtlety because Emmett Cullen apparently has no _clue_ how to sustain any sort of cool about the odd situation they're all in. Bella levels him with a droll look when he loudly says, "Boy, have I missed _Edward_ ," and avidly awaits her reaction, as if she was supposed to flinch or something just hearing the name. Emmett visibly deflates.

She shakes her head and mutters, "What is he, _Beetlejuice_? Might as well say it three times."

Emmett's barely-muffled chortles are swiftly cut off with the unmistakable sound of Rosalie's hand rapping the back of his head. "Rosie," he whines.

"She has a point," Rosalie says and Bella knows she says it just loud enough for her to hear. "Quit drawing attention to us."

The reprieve Bella has from the subject of _Edward Cullen_ is all too short; lunch comes too quickly after English and is punctuated by Jessica's excited chatter surrounding the newly-resolved mystery that is the Cullens and the Hales. Even though she's doing her best to tune out the gossip, reading ' _Salem's Lot_ with enough concentration that she only eats half of her orange, Bella can't help but absorb details. That's just how her mind works, taking in any and all information like a sponge.

Evidently, with Edward Cullen's return, the majority of the female population at Forks High had begun mooning over him, which inevitably led to Jessica overhearing certain details of which the freshmen class was not privy. Mainly, that Edward Cullen was the only single Cullen - his pixie sister, Alice, was dating Jasper Hale and Emmett was with Rosalie, which Bella had kind of figured out already. Being the single man in a group of incredibly attractive people made Edward some kind of beacon of hope and competition in the school, even though his apparent family situation was a bit of a scandal.

"They're all adopted," Jessica reveals, hushed with wide eyes flitting to the other side of the cafeteria, as if the subject she spoke of was some great mystery. "And together. Like _together-together_. Dating and living in the same house! Can you imagine?"

"And Edward is all alone," Lauren adds, leaning forward on her elbows with a nasty smile. "Or is he? I mean, it's all so scandalous, so who knows what the parents are into. With the good doctor always tied up at the hospital and the couples always together, what do Edward and the mother get up to-"

"Oh, Lauren! That's horrible!" Angela says, fluttering her hands as the rest of the group, Jessica include, nod in agreement.

Lauren curls her lip. "Oh, please. Like it's that hard to imagine. They're just plain _weird_ and-"

"That's enough," Bella cuts in, snapping her book closed without bothering with the bookmark. She stands from the table, shouldering her bag, and then turning narrowed mossy-green eyes onto the foul girl who'd stoked her ire. "So what if they're all adopted and dating? It's not like they're actually related so don't go stopping the presses over it. And I'll have you know that Esme Cullen is a lovely woman who does not deserve your _vile_ speculation, Lauren Mallory. You would be better suited to keep your mouth shut about things you know nothing about."

Bella's chin juts out, defiant and challenging. She waits for Lauren's back to get up, but it never happens. If anything, Lauren looks suitably cowed, probably because Bella doesn't _ever_ join in with the lunch table rabble and certainly not with such vitriol. Good. She's glad that all it took to shut Lauren down. Still, she stands and waits for her age-mates to unthaw from their shock of her impromptu reprimand. Jessica is too sheepish at having brought up the subject to do it and Angela is too gentle, so the duty falls to Mike, who shoots Lauren a frown.

"Bella's right," he says. "That was pretty messed up to say."

"I-I didn't mean it," Lauren huffs, curling away from Bella's derisive snort. "Really. I was just messing around."

"Maybe you shouldn't be telling that to _me_ ," Bella says pointedly, nodding to the Cullen and Hale table, before turning on her heel. "I'll see you guys later."

Before she leaves the cafeteria, though, she looks back at the table she'd just indicated - and catches the eyes of Edward Cullen, who is looking at her like he's never _seen_ before. Did he hear that whole conversation? Probably. She stares back for a moment, then departs to the empty Nutrition classroom, which will not fill with students for at least another twenty minutes, giving Bella enough time to delve right back into Stephen King's warped vampire tale.

She wonders - how similar are King's vampires to the ones that she has discovered?

"I always liked _Carrie_ more," a voice chirps suddenly, startling Bella only for a moment before she realizes that Alice Cullen had just sat down at the desk next to hers and was now grinning vivaciously. Bella takes in Alice's geometric print romper and vibrant fuchsia lip stick, the layering of bracelets around her deceptively frail wrist. Alice looks _young_. As young as Bella, even. "Of course, Rosalie likes to argue that _Christine_ is better, but her opinion is totally biased. She has a thing about cars, you know? But Esme is the real surprise - she likes the _Dark Tower_ series."

 _Esme_?

The question must be writ plainly on her face because Alice's smile dims, grows more sincere. "I wanted to thank you for what you said in the cafeteria," she says. "There aren't many humans who would defend monsters."

Bella turns away, finds the last sentence she read, and then murmurs, " _Are_ you monsters?"

Alice doesn't answer. Bella didn't really expect her to and she's relieved that Alice seems intent on giving her some space now that she's said her piece.

Bella is just a bit sick of hearing about the Cullens for the day; she's _astounded_ that one family can take up so much air. So when her last class comes around, she's rather eager for the refuge of the Ceramics classroom in the art building, where it's generally quiet as everyone struggles to shape clay into something resembling a bowl or a vase or even a mask. Ceramics is a small class of fourteen and the teacher, Mr. Jarvis, seems content to let them work at their own paces after he gives a weekly demonstration. She finds an oddly unexpected peace in this last class, having only taken it to even her art credit out and figuring that working a kiln was easier than singing in public, which Bella _did not do_ even though she could carry a tune. Better yet, it's even more peaceful for the decided lack of Cullens or Hales.

Or so she thought.

It hadn't occurred to her that the reason Edward Cullen was in the same vicinity as herself on the first day of school was because he also had a class in the art building - or more specifically, he was _also_ in the last period Ceramics class that Mr. Jarvis instructed. Upon sighting him talking to the lackadaisical instructor, Bella stumbles in surprise at the door, almost dropping her book.

 _No way_ , she thinks in muted exasperation _. Is there no escaping these vampires?_

Apparently not, as Edward Cullen seems to think he should set up beside Bella's throwing wheel, seemingly unbothered by the wary eye she casts in his direction as he sets up his station with water, sponge, and quarter-pound of porcelain after tying a vinyl apron over his lanky frame. He's unfairly graceful about all of it, long legs easily working pedals that Bella has to stretch to reach. She sets her jaw and looks away, resolute in her decision to ignore him for as long as possible. She has the sense that he had something _to_ say, otherwise he wouldn't voluntarily put himself in such close proximity; even now, in the corner of her eye, she notes how dark his eyes are and how little his chest moves, as if he's measuring his breathing.

The vampires usually have light eyes ranging across the entire gold spectrum - she's only seen black eyes on them twice and each time she had been bleeding. Except Edward's eyes had been black _before_ her nosebleed, just like they were black now when she wasn't even bleeding, menstrual or otherwise. She made him thirsty.

Why would he do this to himself? Wouldn't it be easier to just pretend she doesn't exist? She highly doubted that he wasn't aware they would share this class and she doesn't understand his motivation. Still, she's not frightened of him like any rational person would be. If he can bide his time for whatever agenda he has, so can she.

Bella wets her hands, cupping them around the cool kaolin, pressing her thumb deep into the middle of the lump before gently putting pressure on the pedal that spun the throwing wheel. She's been at this for a month and has some idea of how to balance control of her limbs with the shaping of the clay, but it's clumsy yet. She tries to mimic the ease at which Mr. Jarvis performs his demos, starting all over again when the side of her bowl collapses. She'd made it too thin.

Sighing, Bella scrapes the clay back into a lump, ready to try again - and that is when Edward Cullen decides it's the _perfect_ time to open his lush mouth.

"I'm sorry for being rude the other day," he intones with velveteen softness, looking at her from beneath his lashes, eyes still black as the night.

"Rude?" Bella parrots, sitting back to better hold in the disbelieving laugh threatening to bubble over. "Well, _okay_ , if that's the word you want to go with, fine. You were pretty _rude_ last time we saw each other."

Edward's heavy brow furrows briefly in obvious confusion - as if he didn't know what to do with her blasé reaction or the mocking tone she'd taken - but then his expression smoothes and he forges on, following some mental script he'd concocted. "I'm hoping you'll forgive me," he continues, tacking on a small manufactured smile.

"Forgive?"

"I…" he hesitates, brow furrowing again. "I behaved terribly and I hope for your forgiveness."

Bella reaches for the wet cloth hanging over the side of her water bucket, cleaning her hands as she breathes out through her nose to a count of ten. It's obvious that this thing he'd initiated isn't going to plan; she's thrown him off somehow and he's stumbling badly enough that it's almost pitiful. Almost.

"Edward, right?"

"Yes," he confirms, grasping at this new change with an air of relief. "Edward Cullen. I'm pleased to meet you properly."

"Sure…" says Bella, drawing the word out before biting her lip. His eyes are drawn to the movement for a second before his attention returns upward. " _Edward Cullen._ Look, I think we might be having a bit of miscommunication right now. I mean, aside from the semantics of word choice and the fact that _rude_ doesn't even begin to cover attempting to choke the life out of me _or_ having serious issues talking yourself out of literally drinking my blood, we have a bigger issue to deal with here."

Edward sits back abruptly, blinking twice in surprise. "I see…And what would that issue be, exactly?"

"You're terrible at apologies," she says bluntly. "Just… _so_ bad at them."

"Excuse me?"

Bella gestures at him broadly with a roll of her wrist, bemused by the expression on his face - he's completely out of him element, something that must be surely foreign to him judging by the fish-out-of-water wideness of his eyes. "The entire presentation was underwhelming. You're _sorry_ for being _rude_? You want me to forgive you? That's entirely too vague. What, exactly, am I forgiving you for? And _why_ should I forgive you?"

"You're absolutely right, I-"

"And," she cuts in with an arched brow. "What about your motivations? Are you only apologizing because I know your secret, or are you genuinely sorry?"

Edward seems at a loss, the black of his eyes lightening to a deep whiskey brown.

Bella's lips twitch, but she restrains her smile as she cleans up her station efficiently, shouldering her bag just as the bell rings and Mr. Jarvis grunts a dismissal.

 _We're even, now_ , she decides, taking victory where it is well-deserved.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

As has become her routine - every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday - Bella's route home veers sharply toward the tiny town square that is just off the highway. Forks is blink-and-miss it small, but it does boast a single shopping center surrounded on three sides with a grocery store, post office, day care, gas station, and barber shop; on the other side of the highway, closer to Forks General Hospital, is where the police station and the building used for City Hall are located. For everything else, most people drive down to Port Angeles, which is larger and altogether more useful.

However, Bella doesn't drive. She has a learner's permit from over the summer, which she had done at Charlie's insistence, but without a car, it's a bit useless. She's fine walking, anyway, even in the rain. There is something refreshing about filling her lungs with the damp, clean air of a drizzling day - both mentally and physically.

Today had been another day of testing her patience with the Cullen vampires. And she means that quite literally - it was the _Cullens_ , not the Hales, who had watched her with such curiosity. She'd felt like a zoo exhibit and that irked. Bella didn't exist to be their entertainment; and in fact, if it hadn't been for her own little talent, she might not exist at all. But even with Emmett and Alice being so openly friendly, it's Edward Cullen's amazement that is really getting to her.

He looks at her like a mystery he just can't solve.

And Bella doesn't think she's _that_ mysterious. So what's his deal? She must be missing something.

Shaking the rain from her hair, Bella ducks into the grocery store and heads straight toward the butcher section toward the back. The butcher and she had an arrangement now, after she had successfully convinced him that she really _could_ cook with ingredients that he usually threw out - and because they weren't sold traditionally, Bella got an excellent discount that more than made up for the cumbersome need to visit the store three times a week. She's glad that Charlie had been content to let her have free reign of the kitchen and that he really liked the dishes she made; Renee had always opted for vegetables when Bella cooked.

Bella steps up to the counter, calling out her order as she grabs a hand basket. The butcher has her pay at the counter and passes off the brown paper bag with the receipt stapled to it; she thanks him with a small smile, chats about his children for a moment, and then trots off to other sections of the grocery for additional ingredients. Shopping takes her mind off of the issue with _certain students_ at school, but it also makes her _thirsty_ , throat dry enough to burn.

She grabs a bottle of water in the check-out line.

It's almost enough to quench her sudden thirst.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

A week later and Edward Cullen is valiantly continuing in his effort to - Bella _supposes_ \- mend attempted-murder fences? Make her forget that he _snarled_ and thought _mine_ and then cried out in pain when she thwarted him with her mind? Be her _friend_? She has no earthly clue, but she doesn't shut him down again. She's interested in seeing where the big, bad vampire is going with all of this, if anywhere.

"Why did you come to Forks?" he asks as they sit side-by-side at their throwing wheels, no nearer or farer than he needs to be, but also not _leaning away_ even though his eyes are still darker than they probably should be.

Bella shrugs a solitary shoulder. "My Mom remarried."

"And you don't like the guy."

"What?" Bella looks up, wrinkling her nose at him. "No, Phil is great, he's good for Renee. Stable. She needs that. But he travels, too, and it would have hurt her to be away from him. So I left instead."

"Selfless," Edward says, catching her eye. "Sacrificing your own happiness."

"Did I ever indicate that I wasn't happy here?"

He falters.

"You make a lot of assumptions," she tells him plainly.

And again, he looks frustrated. "Usually, I don't _have_ to assume. You're difficult to read," he mutters, gaze flitting over her clay-encrusted hands.

Bella laughs at the irony. Touching _him_ had given her a nosebleed because his mind was _so much more_ than she could handle and she was lucky to even get a clear sense of his intentions that day - but _she's_ difficult to read? That's _great_. "So are you," she says, wiping mirthful tears from her face with the back of her wrist.

When she looks up, Edward is smiling at her - a soft expression that does wonders to warm the cool bourbon of his eyes. "You're a pretty odd fifteen year old," he declares.

"And you're just pretty odd," she returns.

Do either of them mean it?

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Bella. Hey. Earth to Bella." Fingers snap near her ear and she jerks upright, straightening from the unconscious lean she'd taken while reading the book that caught her fancy for the day, _The Count of Monte Cristo_. She eyes the pink polish on the snapping fingers, then looks at Jessica in askance. Jessica at least has the grace to look a bit sheepish. "Sorry. Did you hear what I said?"

Bella shakes her head, raising her brows.

Jessica's cheeks bloom in a smiling blush. "I _said_ , Edward Cullen is staring at you," she repeats, nodding her head significantly in the direction of the Cullen-Hale table with a saccharine giggle.

Bella follows her gaze, pursing her lips together. Edward Cullen _is_ staring at her, absently shredding a blueberry bagel between the tips of his long fingers, expression thoughtful and absent of the modicum of frustration that had been so familiar on his features for the last two weeks since his return. He looks _contemplative_.

"I wonder if he's thinking about asking you to the dance!" Jessica covers her mouth with her hand, muffling her happy chitter. It's all so _exciting_ for her, this high school experience. "Wouldn't that be amazing? A junior asking a freshman!"

Angela adjusts her glasses, looking away from her own book; she's adopted Bella's habit of reading during lunch, although her book choices aren't nearly as eclectic. "Except Bella is a senior, technically."

"Oh, that's right," Jessica breathes.

Mike scowls, glaring at Edward over his shoulder. "Well, if you ask me, it would be weird. He's, like, what? Seventeen?"

 _I imagine he's older than that_ , Bella thinks wryly. But she's uncomfortable by Mike's attitude toward Edward - not because Edward didn't deserve it, but because it showcased Mike's interest in _her_ and it was unexpected enough that she's startled by his vehemence. And also because Edward readily returns Mike's glare, lips curling away from his teeth in a silent snarl that seems a bit dramatic for the situation, especially when Rosalie rolls her eyes and kicks Edward's shin beneath the table.

Bella clears her throat, pulling her cardigan around her fingers. "I think I missed something," she says, deliberately drawing attention to herself. "What dance?"

"Bella!" Jessica exclaims.

Lauren sneers. "The Halloween Dance, obviously."

"It's a big deal in Forks," Angela says helpfully. "It welcomes all ages until ten, but high school students get to stay until midnight. Always very fun, with food and games and a costume contest…"

"We're so totally going to win this year or at least one of us will," Jessica announces confidently. "My mom is going to drive us to Port Angeles next weekend so we can shop for costumes. You should come too, Bella."

Bella's first inclination is to reject the offer as easily as possible, but she checks that knee-jerk reaction with a snap of her teeth. But then she thinks about Charlie. She knows that he worries about her - worries that she's too different from other kids her age, that she's missing out on experiences. Charlie would probably be over the moon if she went and did something _teenage_ for a change. What would one dance hurt? She could still bring a book in case it was dead-boring.

So she agrees and makes plans to go to Port Angeles with Jessica, Lauren, and Angela the weekend before Halloween. And as a result of that, she's drawn into a brainstorming conversation about potential costumes, far outside of her element. All of her suggestions are related to books, which Jessica emphatically says is _not in the Halloween spirit_.

"Think, you know, _Charlie's Angels,_ " she suggests.

Bella blanches.

Maybe this was a mistake.

Or maybe _Jessica_ could be in charge of costumes and Bella could just show up. She wonders if that's a viable option.

Probably not.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Bad day?" Bella asks from the kitchen as Charlie slams the door behind him. She doesn't take her eyes off the cutting board, or slow her slicing scallions, cabbage, and carrots into thin strips, but she does tilt her head, listening to Charlie sigh and scrub his hands over his face vigorously. She frowns, sensing tension that he's trying to expel. "Dad?"

Charlie grunts in response, hanging his gun holster on its hook near the front door. "Small town drama," he says as he sits at the table. "Got a call on domestic violence that got out of hand. The husband tried to turn on me and after I got him restrained, I had to drive his fool ass down to the ER. Dislocated shoulder."

"But you're alright?"

"Your old man is tough, Bells. Don't have to worry about me," he says reassuringly. Then he sniffs, catching the strong whiff of garlic and onions caramelizing on the stove. "What're you making?"

"It's Korean," she replies simply. For Charlie, it's best if she doesn't explicitly announce what it is that she's cooking, as he's more than satisfied to just know the country of origin. As it was, haejangguk was a complicated dish, especially the variance she was doing with pork and pigs blood. Honestly, the less Charlie knew, the better.

While she cooks and he decompresses, she tells him that she's decided to attend the Halloween dance. She was right to think that he would be delighted that she was showing interest; he pulls out his wallet, slaps forty dollars on the table, smiling widely beneath his grey-peppered mustache, and won't hear a word of protest that, _really, Dad, I don't need that much_. Charlie does grill her on the arrangements of the trip to Port Angeles, though, relaxing when he hears that Jessica's mother was chaperoning.

The phone rings right as she adds the more _interesting_ ingredients to the soup boiling in the pot. It's Billy, calling to ask if he and Jacob could borrow their television for the night to catch the game; Charlie, already having plans of watching the game himself, invites them over right away. "Do we have enough of this stuff to share?"

Bella nods, stirring the pot. She'd made enough to have leftovers and there was certainly enough to feed two extra mouths.

Charlie ambles off to change out of his uniform and set up the television trays in the living room. Bella stays in the kitchen to babysit the stove, removing the lid when the simmering soup begins to stick to the bottom of the pot, and idly fills in her homework for Italian, English, and Trigonometry. Soon enough, before her homework is complete, the roar of that old beast passing as a truck rumbles in the driveway, signaling the arrival of their guests. Between Jacob and Charlie, Billy is wheeled into the house in short order, greeting Bella with familiarity and answering all her questions about Rachel and Rebecca.

When Charlie and Billy disappear into the living room, drawn to the television by the sound of a buzzer, Jacob is recruited to ferry bowls back and forth. He's a bit shy around her, the way that all pubescent boys are around girls, but warms up quickly, growing comfortable enough to pester her about her homework. She lets him look over her math equations, bemused by his wide eyes and his declaration, "I'm _so_ glad the Res school isn't making us learn this crap!"

"It's not so bad," she says, gathering her papers and turning to search for two other bowls so that she and Jake could eat, too. She's absolutely _famished_.

" _Not so bad_ ," he mocks, snorting. "Sure, sure…Hey, did your Dad change his aftershave?"

Spoons clank against tin bowls as Bella starts at the _odd_ question. She turns to Jake, brows arched high. "What? No, of course not. Charlie's been using the same brand since before I was born. Why?"

Jake shrugs, his long hair falling over his face until he pushes it back with a huff, fiddling with a rubber band around his wrist. "Dunno," he says. "Just heard some of the guys in Sam's gang, you know Jared and Paul? They were saying that Charlie kind of stunk last weekend when he was fishing with Harry and Dad. I bet they were just messing around though. They're kind of jerks."

"Sounds like it," she mutters, but declines to say anything else. She knows that some people in La Push don't really appreciate Charlie's presence on the Reservation just as surely as she knows that it's a touchy subject for Charlie, who laments that he could be doing more good for his jurisdiction if there wasn't such a divide between the Tribal Council and the Forks Police Department.

Bella advises Jacob Black to keep quiet about what Sam Uley's gang seems to think about her father. She wouldn't want trouble to stir up unnecessarily.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Great Uncle Aro,_

 _I have decided to attend a dance hosted by my school on Halloween night. I know. It seems awfully uncharacteristic. I almost regret committing to the event, but one of my schoolmates has seized upon my participation and I do not think that I can get out of it, anymore. I find that I am having a difficult time thinking of an appropriate costume. The last time I dressed up for Halloween, I was nine and wore a fairy costume with enough glitter that I was still sparkling by Christmas. I definitely want to avoid repeating that experience._

 _In other news, school is going well and the books you sent me last year - what did you call it, a All Hallows Eve collection? - are being put to good use. However, since you swayed my mind in regard to Poe, I feel it is my duty to return the favor. Please, do give Stephen King another chance. His short stories are marvelous._

 _Also, I am in need of more advice, though the topic might be better suited to Aunt Sulpicia. There is a boy in my school who seems rather insistent on getting to know me and I am not sure what to do. We got off to a rough start, but I find him intriguing - nearly as interesting as he seems to find me, at the very least. He doesn't seem put off at my attitude or my preoccupations. I am in unfamiliar territory. What should do you think I should do?_

 _The previous book you sent me was used very well. Thank you, again._

 _All my love,_

 _Your Great-Grandniece Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

On the morning of her ill-advised trip to Port Angeles, Bella stands between her closet and her window, eyeing the brisk wind blowing autumn leaves across the front yard of the house. She always forgets how quickly Washington embraces the chill of early autumn; just the day before, the clouds had insulated balmy warmth reminiscent of the summer, but today, the sun peaking through cloudcover promises a cold warmth.

With that in mind, Bella dresses in opaque cocoa tights and a short-sleeved navy shift dress with a blood orange-and-chartreuse floral print, layering for protection against the wind with an oversized chunky tan cardigan, bunched cream-colored socks, and brown Docs. After balming her lips, she gives the wind outside a second glance, then loosely braids her hair over her shoulder. The book for the day is _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ , which she places in her customary bag.

Downstairs, Charlie has delayed leaving for his weekend fishing trip to give her more money and a kiss on the cheek. "Be careful," he says as she pours coffee into a thermos for each of them.

"I will. I promise." She rustles through her bag, plucking a folded piece of paper from between two books, and hands it to Charlie. "Would you sign this?"

He unfolds and reads the permission form, mustache twitching. "Depends," he says slowly. "What do you plan on piercing? Show me."

Expecting this, Bella brushes hair away from her ear, pinching the firm cartilage at the top between thumb and forefinger. "One on each side," she explains seriously. She wants to convey that she's thought about this decision, that she isn't just doing it to rebel. Charlie always appreciates that kind of thoughtfulness.

"At least you ask," he says gruffly as he scribbles his name in the correct field on the form. "Can't tell you how many times kids go down to Port Angeles and do something stupid only to have their parents call and demand I arrest someone up there."

"Thanks, Dad."

"Don't mention it, kid," he says on his way out the door.

Not too long after, a sedan driven by Jessica's mother pulls into the driveway to pick her up. Jessica is a lot like her mother, both exuberant and bubbly and ready to lead the charge for a day of shopping. The drive to Port Angeles is punctuated by impromptu radio karaoke of the Top 40 chart and by Lauren's lingering stink eye. Thankfully, Angela is a physical buffer in the backseat and later in the store, helping Bella fend off the nastier of Lauren's remarks that Jessica and her mother are too oblivious to catch. Half of an entire Saturday is chased away in the dressing room of Port Angeles' lone costume shop and, when that renders only costume jewelry, a set of angle wings, and two wigs, the rest of the afternoon after lunch is swallowed up in department stores.

Bella isn't a shopper. For her, clothes are about comfort first and style second, which means that all of her shopping trips are typically annual and done in under two hours. She didn't think it was possible - even when shopping with Renee - for whole _day_ to be dedicated to retail. It's almost amazing. She doesn't know where Jessica and her mother get the energy because even Lauren is beginning to lag and Angela has been shuffling from bench to bench for the past hour. Bella is still standing only by the virtue that she hadn't run off to the dressing room every time something caught her eye. Of the four of them, she has the least picked out, which suits her fine. She's sure she can do _something_ with a black dress and a stylized choker; maybe she'll go Goth, as that seemed to be the option of minimal effort.

As they check out from the store, Bella pulls Mrs. Stanley aside and explains that she wanted to go off to find the piercing shop while she was in town. "I haven't had much luck," she says, shaking the bag from the costume store for emphasis. "But while I'm here, I can at least get this done. I could meet you for dinner at that Italian place when I'm done. It won't take long at all."

Mrs. Stanley agrees - only after taking a surprisingly serious moment to make sure Bella knew how to get to the parlor and to the restaurant and to stay on the main thoroughfare. Bella adjusts her estimation of the woman accordingly, then heads off on her way, following the map she'd memorized the night before. She passes a New Age bookstore and several restaurants, edging ever closer to the non-commercial section of Port Angeles.

The tattoo parlor she looked up online is set on a cross between a main and side street overlooking the port, close enough to the warehouses that it probably didn't attract many walk-in clients. The heavily-tattooed woman behind the counter looks set to wave Bella off until she brandishes the permission form that Charlie had signed; after that, she seems more than happy to walk Bella through the selection they have in stock for the kind of piercing that Bella wants. Not being the indecisive sort, Bella selects a titanium ball stud for each ear and is in short order the recipient of her second piercings. She examines them in the mirror - much to the delight of the piercing technician - and immediately decides that she loves them.

It was well worth the trip to Port Angeles just to get the piercings, even if the shopping trip was kind of a dud.

Still, it had taken longer than she thought to find the parlor and get the piercing done. The sun is already beginning to set and a quick look at her phone reveals that she was nearing the time she agreed to meet everyone back at the Italian restaurant. Not ideal. Playing in smart, she retraces her steps back in the same direction she came from, refusing any inclination to try a short cut.

Of course, she couldn't have imagined that staying on the main thoroughfare would attract the same sort of attention as bumbling through alleyways would. A set of four drunk men who had been across the street from the tattoo parlor begin to follow her as soon as she sets off; a knot of dread forms in her stomach, but she keeps her pace steady, straining her ears when the noise produced by the men drops off suddenly.

Bella glances back. They're gone.

 _Good_.

She turns on the next cross street, passing a closed department store and coffee shop-

Rough hands pull her into the darkened alley, cutting off her scream with a swift slap to the cheek, hard enough that she tastes blood in her mouth. The skin contact was brief - but not brief enough that she didn't detect the _intentions_ of at least one of these men. Bella struggles against the stern grip drawing her elbows together behind her back, pulling her shoulders together tight enough that pain lances from the joints.

The men laugh when she kicks out. Her struggling seems to be making it _easier_ for them to overpower her, not harder, and she's outnumbered four to one. They pull her deeper into the alley, uncaring of her kicking legs; one pulls off her shoe when she hits at him, slapping her again in response; when she tries screaming again, a gasoline-scented hand covers her mouth, both muffling her protests and delivering a sickening flashback of another girl that the group of four had done this to.

And Bella was _next_.

She keeps fighting, even though its futile, and her spirit begins to die when her dress is lifted high enough to bunch over her chest, when hands paw at her bra, when fingers stretch and rip at her tights. There's so much skin contact that it's instant sensory overload. Her nose begins to bleed. Too many minds, too much information, and she can't push back. She's _drowning_ under the onslaught. Helpless.

Bella flinches when cool air hits her thighs - but maybe if she really concentrates, maybe if she tries hard enough, she can lash out mentally. She just needs to calm down. She just needs to disconnect from her body. She closes her eyes, blocking out the feeling of thick fingers pulling and twisting at her skin, blocking out the scrape of nails over her inner thighs.

It's _so difficult_ \- she can't just separate mind from body - impossible - and her head is aching so much now, her nose bleeding in a steady rivet of iron, drip drip dripping down her lips, down her chin -

 _All it takes is a touch -_

Desperate, Bella gathers all of her mental strength built up by years of learning, supported by eons of knowledge, and then she lashes out - an uncoordinated, sloppy attack that has to stretch too far, that has too touch too many minds at the same time, that all it really does is buy her a few seconds.

 _But a few seconds was all she needed._

Tires screech to a cold stop at the mouth of the alley, headlights glaring so brightly on the scene that she can't see who has come to rescue her. She doesn't need to see it, though. She _knows_ that snarl.

Edward.

The men are ripped away from her, flung against brick and metal and broken glass in an instant. Bella falls against the ground, pulling her legs up to her chest to protect herself as Edward's body becomes an immobile, growling, barely-contained barrier between her and the rest of the world. She sobs in relief at the sight of his tousled hair, at the strong shape of his shoulders.

Edward didn't come alone. As soon as her eyes adjust from the sudden glare of the headlights, she easily spots the hulking shape of Emmett Cullen, the fierce height of Rosalie Hale, and two still forms standing guard between the alley and the Volvo that are undoubtedly Alice and Jasper. With the way Edward is half-crouched in front of her, she can barely see the what's really happening - but she catches enough to realize that while Edward had done the initial rescue, Rosalie and Emmett were relishing in the beat-down.

"Rose, reign it in," Jasper drawls soothingly.

Rosalie snarls in his direction - a reflex - and then steps back from two unconscious forms. She shakes off Emmett's arm, turning to Bella with blazing black eyes, then narrows her gaze at Edward. "Let me through," she orders.

Edward's response is a feral, sub-vocal growl that shakes Bella's bones.

"I'm going to check her whether you like it or not," Rosalie spits. "Don't make me move you myself."

Their standoff is short-lived. Alice breaks off from Jasper, blurring to Edward's side to push on his shoulder. "Let us do it," she says to him. "Bella will be too embarrassed to let you see."

 _That_ seems to get through to him because Edward stops the animal noise radiating from his chest in an instant. He stands with vampire speed, allowing Rosalie closer without giving up too much distance; if he wanted to, he could probably reach out to touch Bella without moving an inch. Inexplicably, his nearness has done wonders to calm her down; she's stopped crying and her lungs don't feel as tight, although her head continues to ache. No more bloody nose. She can _think_ again.

"I'm fine," she tells Rosalie and Alice. "They didn't…"

Relief colors Rosalie's perfect features, but Alice doesn't seem surprised. Between the two of them, they help Bella stand and straighten her hair and clothes; her tights are not salvageable, so Alice finishes ripping them off while Rosalie holds her steady. The blonde's eyes are still dark, but this time the gaze is haunted instead of angry. Rosalie - citing a degree in nursing _which is so random_ \- does the quickest physical of Bella's young life.

"No bruises, right?" Alice confirms, balling up the tights with anxious hands

Rosalie shakes her head. "Physically unharmed. Mentally…"

"I'm _fine_ ," Bella repeats firmly, wiping at her nose.

"She really is," Jasper says from several feet away, tone tinged in awe. "Christ, but how the hell-?"

Edward growls again, but it's not directed at Jasper - it's meant for one the men stacked like unwanted toys in the middle of the alley. He darts closer to Bella, effectively pushing his sisters away just by putting himself between her and the world _again_. Unwittingly, her hand raises to touch the middle of his back. She doesn't know why. To soothe the beast? To thank him, silently?

It brings his attention to her and she aches at the agony in his eyes. "I'm okay," she tells him.

Edward reaches up, rubbing his thumb beneath her nose, wiping away blood that she had missed. He says nothing, but he doesn't really need to - his chaotic mind is warring with itself, anger and relief, worry and unmitigated rage, all wrapped beneath a singular _want_ that is too vague for her to really grasp. He licks the blood off his thumb, closing his eyes. She watches silently, part of her waiting for him to snap again and wondering if she has it in her to deal with another deliberate lash of her mind.

He opens his eyes - guarded warm topaz that does not leave her face, even as he kneels before her and assists her in putting her shoe back on. The intensity of his gaze goes a long way to mending what had almost been broken. And when he bows his head, it almost feels as though he does so in supplication.

"We can't stay here," Emmett says, breaking through the moment with an unrelenting tone. "Got to do something with _them_."

"I know what _I_ want to do with them," Rosalie hisses. Emmett winces.

"Bella should eat something," Alice says. "Don't humans go into shock after these ordeals?"

"She should be gettin' warm," Jasper agrees.

"You take care of Bella and _I_ will take care of _them_ ," Rosalie suggests darkly.

Bella is speaking before the thought is even fully formed. "No. No, I want to be there."

Five vampire eyes lock onto her, but it is Edward that finally speaks. "You shouldn't have to see any more," he argues. "Rosalie and Emmett will make arrangements for them and-"

"I'm not a doll, Edward," Bella counters firmly. "I think I can handle watching them be dropped off at the police station without suffering from a mental breakdown."

He works his jaw, clenching and unclenching, still knelt before her with his pale hands on her shoelaces. He looks so fit to argue - to protect - that her heart clenches. She just _knows_ he's trying to protect her, but that's not what she needs right now. She needs to see justice, to see the law carried out. Otherwise, she might never feel at peace. She'd been rescued - but she has to see with her own eyes that these men were hand-delivered to the human justice system.

Visibly swallowing his argument, Edward nods. And while his siblings blur around, loading the men into the backseat of the Volvo, he shrugs off his beige leather jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. It hangs off of her, overlarge and cold from his body - rather his lack of body heat - but the weight is welcome. She feels protected from the world, especially when he slips around her to guide her into the passenger seat by the small of her back.

Edward slips into the drivers seat. He doesn't comment on the way she sits with her back to the window so that she'll be able to keep an eye on the men. Instead he says, "They'll meet us at the station."

Bella doesn't leave the Volvo as the men are unloaded from the back. She sits in the direct warmth of the heaters that Edward had centered on her and listens as he and Alice discuss the logistics of the rest of the night. It's decided in short order that Alice would find Mrs. Stanley, explain that she'd run into Bella and insisted on them having dinner together, thus allowing Bella to be driven home by vampires rather than a soccer mom. And while that was happening, Emmett and Jasper would procure her a dinner - _rare steak_ as per Alice's instruction - that she would eat on the road. Rosalie and Edward would stay with her, though she's almost certain it has less to do with her comfort and more to do with the mutual assurance that neither would go after the men if they stayed in each other's pockets.

While all of this happens, after she has devoured two steaks more blue than rare, Bella closes her eyes and _pushes_ the events of the last hour deep into the recesses of her mind - hopefully far enough so that she could forget it ever happened or at least pretend it happened to someone else.

It almost works.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She doesn't have nightmares, exactly, but when she falls asleep on Sunday night, it's out of exhaustion because she definitely didn't sleep on Saturday.

She looks like hell on Monday.

And Tuesday.

And Wednesday.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Thursday is easier. She wakes up feeling almost rested, her sheets not twisted around her body like they had been for several nights before. And when she gets to school, none of the vampires that rescued her look as if they're waiting for her to shatter into a million pieces.

She's _fine_.

But she doesn't return his jacket.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dearest Isabella,_

 _My, what a pleasure it is to read a letter filled with such useful tidings! A dance_ and _a boy. You are acting your age! As to your first query, a Halloween costume, have you thought at all about dressing as a vampire? I am told that this is a classic choice that never goes out of style; this is confirmed by several reliable sources._

 _Again with Stephen King? Every year like clockwork, I am encouraged to read these horror-themed books. But, I suppose that you have a point. I shall return the favor and give Mr. King the benefit of the doubt._

 _I am gratified that you are using all the gifts that you have received. Tell me, darling, how often do you wear the earrings Sulpicia sent to you? I encourage you to use them as often as possible, for she meant them to be worn everyday, not reserved for special occasions. Along this same vein, Suplicia has never expressed more excitement than to hear of this development between you and a boy. I myself am far less enthused, but you will have to forgive an old man for being protective of his family. I suppose your father will have to decide whether or not you are too young to date - but dearest Isabella, please do take care to treat your heart carefully. Those in our family have a tendency to love only once._

 _Although, please spare me the indignity of asking my wife's inquires regarding the attributes of this young man who has caught your eye. Sulpicia expects a detailed letter from you very soon._

 _My eternal heart,_

 _Aro_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella takes Great Uncle Aro's advice and goes to the Halloween Dance as a vampire, dressed in inky black with ruby-red lips and _Dracula_ in her hands after she peruses the gymnasium and finds it decidedly less exciting than she'd been led to believe. Too much garish black-and-orange decorations. Too many screaming, sugar-hyped kids. Too much _cleavage_.

Instead of lingering in the crowd, she shows her face to the freshmen class and then locates a suitable corner of the gym where the strobe lights don't flash quite so bright. That's where he finds her, sidling up to her dressed like an uncanny resemblance of James Dean, smirk and all. He tilts his head, scanning the title of her book and remarking, "Dracula? Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Do you think it means something?" she shoots back.

Edward seems to take in her costume, his expression twisting between abject horror and mirth. "You have a morbid sense of humor," he decides. "The book wasn't enough?"

"Me? Please," Bella scoffs indelicately. "Honestly, my great-uncle is really the twisted one. Huge fan of Poe."

Edward smiles, relaxed in evidence of her good humor. He holds out his hand. "Would you care to dance? I'm led to believe that it is the expected behavior at these events."

"I don't dance," she laughs. "Sorry, but no thanks."

He doesn't seem put off by her rejection. "That's fine. Would you care to take a walk instead?"

Bella bites her lip. She has the sense that if she says _yes_ , then she's setting a precedent - setting a new tone for their relationship. Did they have a relationship? Not really. But at the same time, she _knew_ he was trying to start something and while it baffled her that a vampire - let alone a vampire who'd been driven so mad by bloodlust that he'd almost killed her - would want to _date_ …She was still undeniably drawn to him. And Edward Cullen was persistent.

"A walk sounds nice," she says, putting her book into the slim little black bag she had for the night. Edward offers her his arm and she is struck by the gesture that is so out of place in this setting of gyrating hips and funnel cakes with orange sprinkles. She waits until they are outside and then asks, "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," he answers promptly.

"And how long have you been seventeen?"

He hesitates for a split second. "I was turned during the height of Spanish Influenza in 1918. Does that frighten you?"

"No. Should it?"

"I suppose not," he concedes, eyes fond as he smiles down at her. "Although, I continue to underestimate you. Nothing seems to frighten you for too long."

As far as compliments go, this one feels weighted by meaning that she has missed. They are both being careful to keep their skin from touching, a sort of tacit agreement that had been reached without discussion. But they would have to talk about it eventually, right? Obviously, they were on a precipice and they seemed to only be going one way - deeper into the blue, into building this _thing_ between them, into overcoming the giant divide between mortal and immortal.

She had so many questions, but it wasn't the right time to ask. Bella didn't want to spoil the moment. They walk on in silence, skirting the parking lot and then circling the track-and-field twice as the hour grows later and the silver moon breaks through the cloud barrier. And though he has none of his own body heat, her arm hooked through his generates enough heat to chase the October chill away.

Then, suddenly, Edward stops cold, eyes suddenly sharp as they rove the forest lining the school. He cocks his head to the side and she looks at him inquisitively. He shakes his head, jaw tight. "It was nothing. I just thought I heard someone say your name."

Bella frowns, pressing closer to his side. "Then why don't you look convinced?"

Edward drops his voice to below a whisper, brow furrowed, nose skimming her temple. "It sounded like a vampire…and it sounded like she knew you."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is October.

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, come on. You guys used the Google, didn't you? Because literally everyone guessed right - the common ingredient is blood - and I seriously didn't think many people would get it right? I guess because I'm American and the entire concept of cooking with blood is like, WAY out there, but I digress. You guys totally Googled. You Googlers.**

 **Whew. This chapter was. Ah. Hard to write. As in, it took longer than I thought it would? Good grief. At least it was canon, so it was going to come sooner or later.  
**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	5. four: november

**four**

 **november**

* * *

 **Not yesterday I learned to know**

 **The love of bare November days**

 **Before the coming of the snow...**

 **\- - - Robert Frost "My November Guest"**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

In Phoenix, it was Bella's habit to read the newspaper; Renee indulged her interest with subscriptions to _The Wall Street Journal_ and _The New York Times_ as well as _The Phoenix New Times_. Each morning, she would read her papers along with her coffee, updating herself on the state of the world, both local and global. This was not a habit that had followed Bella to Forks. It wasn't daily, anymore. When Bella moved, Renee had altered the subscriptions to deliver only on the weekends, but there wasn't exactly an equivalent to the Phoenix paper and so Bella had been living for two months mostly ignorant of the local news beat.

Until the second day of November, that is. When she goes downstairs in search for her morning coffee, _The Peninsula Daily News_ is flopped on the new kitchen table, opened to a story that makes her heart lodge itself in her throat. Weakly, abandoning her thermos and the still-warm carafe of coffee, Bella sinks into the kitchen chair, tracing her fingers over the raised ink, speed-reading the story once, and then twice.

"Oh, God," she breathes. She feels cold all of the sudden, the hair raised on the back of her neck. Not terror, but awareness. She isn't scared.

She's suspicious - and unsettled, thrown off her axis and irked by the imbalance.

Without even bothering to fix her coffee - and she would surely regret that decision later when the caffeine withdrawal kicked in - Bella snatches the newspaper off the table and hustles to school, reading the story again and again even though she'd already memorized it. Searching for clues in a mystery that she knew _humans_ would never solve.

The Cullen-Hale brood is already in the mostly-full parking lot by the time her stomping feet carry her the mile-long trek to Forks High - and she does not hesitate to weave directly through empty spaces, storming up to Edward Cullen and shoving the paper against his stony chest. "They're dead," she blazons, the accusation clear and biting in the ever-still November morning. She keeps her voice down, conscious of the curious gaze of other students, but she struggles with her expression, which she's sure is frosty.

Edward catches the paper before it falls. He reads much faster than she does, but she expected that. She waits, eyeing each of his siblings in turn as they all read the blip of a story that headlined the newspaper. Shock seems the main register of emotion for all of them, save Rosalie, who has the satisfaction of the cat who at the canary.

"Bella, this wasn't us," Edward says beseechingly. His eyes are lighter than she's ever seen them, bordering on the shade of whiskey in direct sunlight.

" _You're vampires_ ," she reminds him unnecessarily, voice clipped and quiet. "And those guys _were drained of blood_."

The guys in question? Her attackers in Port Angeles, the same ones she made the point to watch being dropped outside the Port Angeles police station - all four of them dead before a bail hearing can be set for any of the various felonies they were accused of, but the leader, a man named Lonnie, he wasn't just _drained._ His throat was _ripped out_. A kill that was personal. Who else knew, who else had motivation, except for the Cullens?

"We don't drink human blood," Edward declares, stepping forward carefully, as if she would - or could - hurt him. Physically, probably not. But judging by the flare of agony expressed in his drawn features, she had more than enough ammunition to hurt him emotionally. It's a new power - a power over another person - that she isn't sure she wants, isn't sure she can handle responsibly. She had no doubt that Edward was preparing to hand her his heart on a silver platter at some point in the future; she didn't think it would be in evidence so _soon_ , though. And as Bella's ire cools, her tense posture drooping, a well of guilt opens in her chest. She doesn't push him away when his gentle hands fall onto her shoulders; she doesn't flinch when he stoops down to her level, bending his knees so that they are the same height; she only studies him carefully, reads him as silently as she reads her books. "Bella, please. Believe me."

She does.

Her lips part in a tremble that catches his gaze. "If not you, then _who_ ," she petitions in a whisper. "Edward, _who_ would have done this?"

His lush mouth pulls in taut and he straightens, casting his gaze to the forest around the school. "The one who called your name," he suggests. Then he looks at his siblings, a contemplative moment that ends when they all nod their acceptance of whatever decision that had just been made. "There is so much that you need to know. Have lunch with us."

She bites her lip at his request. If she does this - well, it's another step closer to him, isn't it? Another step that she would have taken eventually, a step that she would have _had_ to take before the school year ended because she was _graduating_ and he still had a year left. And she would have had to establish this thing between them - without any doubts, without any confusion - before then, to stake her claim, to reaffirm what he's been chasing. Her hand is forced, now, and it's all happening much faster than she felt prepared for, but…it would have happened eventually. She would have taken this step closer to him. He was playing the long-game. It was inevitable.

Bella releases her lip. "Fine. Lunch."

"I'll answer everything, anything you ask. I promise."

Drawn by his sincerity, Bella can't resist a parting call - a single touch to the back of his hand as she steps away. The thrill of his mind, just a taste of that chaos, beats a drum inside her heart. She wants _more_ \- and so does he. Even in that brief moment, she can tell that all Edward Cullen wants to do is kiss her - and let the world be damned.

Heat suffuses her cheeks. She looks at him, ultra-aware that he _knew_ what she had just done - that she had just read his thoughts - and she has the sense that if he could blush, he would be. Elation bubbles behind her ribs.

"God save me from the mood swingin' of teenagers," Jasper groans, rubbing at his temples. At his side, Alice vibrates with unmitigated excitement, even as her eyes focus and unfocus on the clouds overhead, like she's seeing things that are invisible to everyone else. "Lord and Mary, this is worse than torture. He's up, he's down, she's up, she's down - I didn't think vampires could get headaches, but by the grace of God, it's actually possible."

Emmett guffaws, then drops a heavy arm over Edward's shoulders, unbothered by Edward's attempts to shake him off. "Hear that, Eddie-boy? Jazz thinks you've got a chance. "

Rosalie rolls her eyes. She's still holding the newspaper and folds it beneath her arm. "I'll walk you to class," she says to Bella, flipping her golden hair over her shoulder. "We should go before Mr. Varner decides to make an example out of you again."

Bella hadn't even realized that she missed homeroom.

She lets her eyes linger on Edward for a half-beat more and then follows Rosalie to each of their lockers, taking advantage of the way crowds part for the vampire and marveling at how much faster she could get to and from her classes if people would move for _her_ that easily.

For the first time, she thinks, _maybe some day_.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella is very good at compartmentalizing. All throughout Trigonometry, she very pointedly doesn't think of the newspaper tucked in Rosalie's bag or the impending lunch conversation she was going to have with - count them - five vampires. Friendly vampires, sure. But still _vampires_.

She couldn't have predicted Edward Cullen standing in the hallway when she emerges from class, ready with a piping-hot paper cup of coffee and a slightly-nervous smile. She takes the cup from him, careful not to brush their fingers - it felt too intimate, too soon after the touch in the parking lot - with some hesitation. She expects the overly-sweet concoctions that typically reside in such cups, but instead is greeted by her familiar strong black coffee, albeit in a brand that laves richly over her taste buds.

Her surprise must show, because Edward ducks his head and says, "Esme has been very interested in human things, lately."

In other words - Esme not only made this cup of coffee, but had also gone through the trouble of buying a coffee maker and coffee, neither of which _she_ would probably use herself.

And that's, like, Bella's third clue that this thing blooming between her and Edward is a pretty big deal.

"Thank you," she murmurs around the rim of the cup.

Edward Cullen has a surprisingly boyish grin.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella pauses by her usual lunch table only long enough to tell Angela that she has a project with one of the Cullens; Angela takes this explanation at face value, not pressing for details the way Jessica obviously wants to. Then, she walks directly to the Cullen-Hale table and sits with her back facing the rest of the lunch room. She doesn't bother buying food; the vampires purchase more than enough each day to keep up the rouse and she can just skim off their lunch trays.

She's early though, and so she does what she usually does - pulls out a book and begins to read. Ironically, today that book is _Crime and Punishment_. How appropriate. Is she not also in a situation where the extraordinary people of the world seem to believe they have a right to commit any crime they so choose - simply because they are extraordinary? Is that not what happened to the men who attacked her, the men who were killed by some random _vampire_?

Some vampire who knew Bella, but who Bella didn't know? Or didn't _think_ she knew?

Her mind is wandering an uncharacteristic amount, which is why she doesn't startle when the Cullens and Hales converge on their table. Edward sits elbow-to-elbow with her, Rosalie on her other side, Alice directly across from her and bracketed by Emmett and Jasper. The seating feels awfully deliberate, something they had discussed before hand. She doesn't even want to begin wondering about _that_. Her attention must be reserved for more important matters.

And so that is how Bella spends the lunch hour. Between Edward scooting food in her direction - he quickly learns that she prefers raw fruits and vegetables to pizza - and sipping on water, Bella learns about vampires. Most importantly, she learns that there are two different types.

Those who feed on the blood of humans, who Jasper calls _traditionalists_.

And those who food on the blood of animals, which Emmett jokingly refers to as _vegetarians_.

Edward's working theory is that it is a traditional vampire who had killed the men from Port Angeles. In particular, he seems to believe that it is a vampire that has been stalking Bella for a very long time. When she asks _why_ he would think _that_ , Alice has to jump in and succinctly explain that some vampires come out of the change gifted. Jasper, for example, is an empath and Alice is psychic. Edward reads minds.

"Not yours," he says quickly, then he furrows his brows and corrects himself. "Only a few times and only when we touched."

He looks like he wants to say more, but his self-restraint is admirable. Instead, he goes on to describe that while this female vampire had clear memories of Bella at various ages in life, she was also careful to stay mostly out of Edward's mental range and redirect her thoughts before it becomes possible to link these flashes of Bella to anything significant - like _why_ she knows Bella or _who_ the vampire is. Edward's fingers curl into fists in obvious aggravation as he explains this. He thinks that he has failed, somehow, but Bella doesn't see it that way.

It's only been a couple of days since the Halloween Dance when he first heard this vampire's mind. He's being too hard on himself.

He's incredulous at her comfort when she offers it. "Bella, you're _in danger_."

She purses her lips thoughtfully. "Am I really, though? Even if she comes closer, I'm not completely helpless," she says pointedly.

He isn't derailed at this reminder of their first encounter. Rather, he grasps onto the topic with a single-minded curiosity. "You're a gifted human," he pronounces baldly. "I've never encountered a gift so fully developed in a human before."

"That doesn't mean it hasn't happened," Rosalie interjects, nodding toward Alice.

"I was locked in an asylum for a reason," Alice agrees, then swiftly explains the circumstances surrounding her transition into vampirism, which in turn instigates a round-table discussion about all of their changes, kept as brief as possible. Alice doesn't remember her human life at all, but she guesses that she might have been fifteen; Jasper was changed at nineteen during the Civil War and had been involved in vampire wars ever since; Rosalie was attacked and saved by Carlisle, the Cullen patriarch, at eighteen and had been bitter about her eternal life until she found a dying Emmett, who had been mauled by a _bear_ on the eve of his twentieth birthday.

Edward was the first, though - but she already knew his story.

The lunch hour is eaten up before any solutions can be found about this female vampire who seems to know her, but at least Bella has more trust in the Cullens, in Edward. One thing is clear, though. Whoever this vampire is obviously doesn't mean her any arm - if she's really been watching Bella since she was a girl, then she had more than enough time to attack her before and honestly, the attack of those vile men had seemed to be fueled by vengeance.

Bella doesn't think she has anything to worry about.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Edward disagrees.

She only catches sight of him by accident. Bella emerges from the steamy bathroom still towel-drying her hair and dressed for bed in a simple cotton sleepshirt. She putters around her room, repacking her school bag and organizing her books for the next day, humming to herself as she rubs Great Aunt Suplicia's lotion onto her hands and elbows. She bypasses the window, casting a cursory glance outside, and then stops in her tracks.

Edward Cullen is in a tree not thirty feet away from her bedroom window. She might not have seen him, except that moonlight catches on the skin of his face in a dazzling silver-white that acts exactly like a beacon. He's awfully lucky that Charlie is already asleep.

Bella opens her window. "Do we need to have a conversation about stalking?" she asks, barely above a whisper. She knows he can hear her.

Edward has the grace to appear chagrined, but he doesn't drop from the branch and retreat.

She sighs. "I can tell that I won't be talking you out of this," she mutters.

He shake his head.

"Go home if it starts raining," she orders before briskly closing her window, shutting off her lamp, and burrowing beneath the covers.

She won't admit it to him, but she does feel safer just knowing that he's out there - her vigilant vampire guardian.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

And so the weeks pass like this - in a limbo of waiting for some untold danger to play out and holding her breath for Edward's next move.

She's content to bide her time for both issues.

Bella Swan is a patient girl.

But it seems like fate is determined to force her hand in a hundred different ways.

Later, she'll look back and determine that it was all ineluctable - both since she turned fifteen and since she touched Edward Cullen. Maybe even since her birth.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The Olympic Peninsula of Washington is known for its early frosts just as much as it is known for its near-constant cloudcover, so Bella is unperturbed by the first morning that leaves the day dawning with a dusting of snow on the ground. From her vantage point at her bedroom window, the haurfrost coating evergreen pines, house roofs, and every square inch of ground within her line of sight is enchanting. Forks looks magical in the snow, especially the untamed forest - like she's entered a fairytale and she ought to find Snow White traipsing along with the huntsman.

She's a bit less enthused the following day when she discovers that the snow has melted and then refrozen overnight, leaving a tricky layer of black ice along the asphalt. Dressed in a thick cobalt turtleneck sweater, canvas jacket, skinny jeans, and sturdy tan hiking boots, Bella keeps warm on the walk to school with her thermos in one hand and _As I Lay Dying_ in the other. Her walk is slower to accommodate her careful steps.

By the time she reaches school, the lot is filled up and she is forced to walk through the rows of cars as opposed to the sidewalk in order to avoid the impromptu snowball fight that had broken out in multiple groups. She isn't bothered, though, because it brings her closer to the promise of indoor warmth all the sooner.

And then, she slips - just slightly, just enough that she drops her book and sloshes her coffee and must catch herself on a nearby tailgate. She frowns at the ice beneath her boot, then scoops up her book, dusting off the cover with a pinched brow. Honestly, couldn't the school put salt down, or something? Even with the thick tread on her boots, there's no traction to be found in the parking lot and with the way teenagers drive, it just doesn't seem very smart or very safe -

The squeal of tires, followed by the metallic churn of brakes pumping ineffectually, draws her attention.

Bella looks up, searching for the source of the sound, but finds her eyes drawn directly into the horrified gaze of one Edward Cullen. If vampires could lose their color, then Edward had just managed to do so. She doesn't understand, and so looks to the nearest sibling - Jasper looks to be in physical pain - Alice is completely immobile, the unmistakable lost gaze she associated with a vision-sighting - Rosalie and Emmett frozen statues -

She follows Rosalie's gaze.

Oh.

And here Bella was, right in the path of an old red Izuzu SUV that had hit the ice wrong, probably driving too fast, and now wouldn't be able to stop before impact.

There wasn't any time to move. Bella is only human.

She closes her eyes, bracing herself. _It will only hurt for a little while_ , she reasons, but even her thoughts quiver in fright. She's scared. She doesn't want to die. She can't prevent this, though, and it's only a matter of time before her body is crushed beneath the vehicle -

The impact doesn't come from the direction she was expecting. That is the first thing she notices, followed quickly by the realization that she is caged within a protective grasp. Familiar arms drawn around her waist and shoulders, lifting her off the ground as two bodies turn and twist in the air, crashing back onto the ground a split second before the spit of shattering glass showers over them. Her forehead bangs against an unforgiving surface, but not the ice; beneath her ear is a steady rumbling growl; and the scent is amazingly heady, all musk and cinnamon and brown sugar.

 _Edward_.

Even before she opens her eyes to the sight of his body beneath hers, his back braced against a tan car hard enough to leave an impression of his shoulders, she knows that Edward Cullen had just saved her life. She pulls back enough to catch his onxy-dark gaze, his flared nostrils as he breathes deep - checking for injury by scent, she knows, because one of her hands is trapped between them, skimming the skin at the base of his neck, and she is receiving all sorts of interesting information.

The most prominent is a revolving thought of _not her not her not her not her not her_.

The second is the knowledge that Emmett Cullen had helped to, had stopped the SUV in the blink of an eye and darted away while Edward had taken care of Bella personally.

The third is that, for the first time, Edward isn't thirsting for her blood.

And the fourth - registering somewhere far, far in the back of his mind - is that the female vampire who has been following Bella had _seen_ this all happen and would have intervened if Edward and Emmett had not.

Bella draws her hand away, gasping at the influx as much as she gasps at Edward's unrelenting gaze. She's trembling from the adrenaline. She swallows. "Edward."

His growl is the only reply she receives - she takes it more as a grunt of acknowledgment, a noise that seems universal to all males.

Bella's swift mind latches onto the foremost concern at the moment. "I'm fine," she tells him. "But you need to calm down if you're going to be seen here."

His growl tapers off and he is still for a long moment before standing both of them up in one fluid movement, a steady hand on her lower back that doesn't move the entire time it takes for the student driving the SUV to be lugged out of the drivers seat by an assortment of teachers. Edward remains hunched protectively at her back as the EMTs arrive and doesn't sacrifice any distance when Charlie shows up, frantic with worry for her even as he shoots Edward a dark look. Unfortunately, she's not able to talk either of them out of visiting the hospital, but she _does_ avoid going in the ambulance, which is a win as far as she is concerned.

Charlie drives her to Forks General. The Cullens follow, along with half the school.

"So," Charlie begins gruffly. "Edward Cullen, huh?"

Bella's head lolls toward him. "He did just save my life, you know. We wouldn't be able to have this _super uncomfortable_ conversation if he hadn't pulled me out of the way."

"Yeah, well, that doesn't mean I have to like the way he looks at my little girl."

Her brow quirks. "And how does he look at me?"

Charlie sighs. "The same way I used to look at your mom."

Bella's heart leaps, banging against her breastbone. "Oh," she says softly, taken aback by her father's comment. He's usually so ineffable about Renee, about everything; it's kind of shocking, on top of the events of the morning, to hear him talk about her, especially in this context.

They are silent the rest of the way to the hospital and silent still while Charlie fills out the insurance forms. She doesn't see the Cullens pass through the waiting room, but she doesn't have time to think about it because a nurse is already calling her back to be examined and Charlie is trailing along stoically. Bella sits through the primary assessment with an air of unfamiliarity; she hardly went to doctors, let alone hospitals, to not find the process a bit fascinating. She's intrigued by the measurements of blood pressure and heart rate, wondering to the exact theory behind these practices…

The nurse leaves before she can ask any questions, which is somewhat disappointing, but she can doesn't have a chance to ruminate before Dr. Carlisle _Cullen_ is stepping around the examination curtain with shining golden hair and gold-coin eyes to match. She isn't surprised to see that Carlisle is just as attractive as his wife or his "children".

"Chief Swan," he greets as he slips on blue latex gloves. "Isabella. Edward tells me that you've hit your head?"

 _Did Edward neglect to mention that I hit my head on his chest_? she wonders dryly.

"I have a hard head," she tells Carlisle. She wonders how a vampire decided to go into medicine, of all things. Wasn't it awkward with all the blood?

"And she's stubborn," Charlie adds. "Better check real good."

Carlisle chuffs a polite laugh, pressing cool fingers over Bella's scalp, searching for a tenderness that is not there. His examination is swift and ultimately concludes that Bella is uninjured. When Bella points out that she could have told him that, he smiles and says, "Edward told me you would say that." Carlisle removes his gloves, signing off on her release; he glances up at her, holding her eye for a moment, and she decides that he doesn't _look_ upset that Edward and Emmett had violated a major rule of vampire-secret keeping in saving her life. Interesting. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Isabella. You're free to take her home, Chief, though please come back to the hospital if there is any dizziness or confusion."

"Will do. Thanks, Doctor."

Bella slips off the examination table, tilting her head as she considering her father. "So, can I go back to school?"

"I don't think so."

"But I'm fine, even the doctor said so."

"Nice try, kid," Charlie says. "You're just going to have to go home and be lazy while I suspend the license of this idiot driver."

"Dad."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Great Uncle Aro,_

 _Life has certainly been exciting since moving to Forks. High school dances and boys aside, I seem to have become some kind of magnet for attention, most of it bad in my estimation. I do not wish to worry you, but if I don't tell you then Charlie's dramatic portrayal will make the incident seem way more serious than it actually was. I was_ almost _in a car accident as a pedestrian. I am fine - no blood, no foul. The boy I mentioned before actually pulled me out of the way._

 _On that note, I have begun to give serious thought to the field of medicine - or at least, serious interest has begun to plague me. At my recent trip to the hospital, I concluded that I am far too ignorant of anatomy and modern medical practices. I think it might be exciting to be a doctor. Wouldn't you agree? Is there anything more fulfilling than saving the lives of others? Perhaps my recent experience has colored my thinking overmuch, but I can't help but think of my future and imagine that the occupation of doctor might be well-suited. I certainly have the memory for it, don't I? Although, I wonder, do I have the passion? Charlie has always told me that passion matters more than knowledge - that is why he chose the police force, I think, because of his passion for protecting people. I am passionate about books. Could I also be passionate about other things, do you think?_

 _Have you read any interesting books, lately? I am about to start on Jane Austen again,_ Sense & Sensibility, _out of nostalgia. It was the first book you sent me, as I'm sure you will recall._

 _All of my love,_

 _Your Great Grandniece Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

A knock on the door early the next morning rouses Bella from slumber. Or rather, the knock startles Charlie in the bathroom, but since his face is half-slathered with shaving cream, he wakes Bella up and sends her downstairs to answer the door in his stead.

Like always, Bella is wide awake the moment her eyes open and she shoos Charlie away while she slips out of bed, tucking her feet into cable-knit slippers and shuffling through the hallway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Her flannel sleepshirt is long enough to hit just above her knees, which is just this side of appropriate to answer the door -

Edward grins at her, eyes glinting like topaz. "Good morning."

Bella's reaction is instinctive as she steps half-behind the door to better hide her unkempt self from his unflinching admiration, her cheeks bright and eyes round. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to speak with your father," he explains.

"At six in the morning?"

"It's very important."

Thrown off kilter, Bella lingers half-behind the door, unsure of whether she should invite him in or not while she's still in her pajamas - long enough for Charlie to finish shaving and come downstairs to see what all the fuss is about.

"Cullen?" he asks with a frown. "Boy, what on Earth are you doing here so damn early?"

"Sorry, Chief, but I felt it imperative to talk to you before you went to work."

"Imperative, huh?" Charlie crosses his arms, speculative, and then steps back from the door. "Well, come on in. We'll…talk while Bella gets ready."

Effectively dismissed, Bella exhales heavily and returns upstairs, selecting her clothes for the day, rinsing her face, and combing her hair. She would be curious about what Edward needed to speak with Charlie about, but the thing is that Charlie's house is small and sound travels very well. She hears the entire conversation, more or less.

Edward had come to ask Charlie permission to date her, and even as he frames the question, she can tell he really wants to say _court_ instead of date - because his intentions were aimed toward a permenant relationship, such as the ones from his era, rather than the fleeting couplings of hers. Dating was the closest approximation, but in doing this, Edward was taking the right steps to make it perfectly clear that he was perfectly serious about her.

"She is _fifteen_ ," Charlie reminds him brusquely.

"Yes."

"She's mature, though," Charlie concedes.

"I agree."

A moment of silence.

"Alright, Cullen. You've got my permission on a _probationary_ basis. There are _rules_. She has a curfew. No taking her out more than once a weekend. If she doesn't want to see you anymore, you listen. If I find out you pressure her in any way, you better run, because there isn't any place you can hide where I won't find you. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, Chief."

"Good." Another moment of silence, then a heavy sigh. "Cullen, is there anything else you wanted to talk about or are you just aiming to take up space in my kitchen?"

"I would like to drive Bella to school and back," Edward replies instantly.

Charlie grunts. "Fine by me. She doesn't need to be walking in this weather, anyway. Good luck convincing _her_ , though. Stubborn as a mule, that one."

"It's one of her more admirable qualities."

"Get the stars out of your eyes, Cullen," Charlie returns glibly, then seems to clap Edward on the shoulder. "Take care of my girl."

"I intend to."

Bella shivers at the promise.

She has no doubt that Edward will keep this vow.

Her heart is still fluttering when she meets him at the foot of the stairs, his attentive gaze trained on her face, hands clasped behind his hands. He radiates an air of victory, as if he'd just won some great battle. In a way, maybe he had.

And that is how Edward Cullen begins courting her.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

As Edward explains it, if they had been in his era, the majority of their dates would have taken place under parental supervision when he would call on her at her home. There might have been occasional walks, or visits to parks and museums and outdoor concerts, but all of this would have been observed by another set of eyes intent on observing the Victorian standards of conduct.

In some ways, the dates Edward takes her on are very similar to the ones expected from his era. He often offers his arm after school - on the days where she doesn't insist on visiting the grocery - and they will walk in the woods behind her house, talking of books and music, of his past and her future, of the differences in life between mortal and immortal. There is a tacit agreement that they not keep secrets from each other. She confesses her worries about the future, about her anxiety of not knowing what she will do in college or beyond, the crippling weight of so much expectation hanging from her shoulders - not from her parents, but from schools, from the world at large. And Edward speaks of the darkness in his past, that shameful stretch of time where he played God with mortal lives and let his eyes bleed red, let himself tarnish the Cullen name.

She is closer to him than anyone, and he to her.

Over the Thanksgiving break, Edward insists on taking her out to dinner and he won't hear of word of protest, even as he is in the middle of choking down mushroom ravioli. "Really, Edward," she chides, sliding his plate away from him and switching it with her almost-cleared one. "You act as if Emmett hasn't already told me how revolting human food is."

"You should have human experiences."

"Not at your expense, though," she argues gently. "The thought was nice, but I would honestly rather eat my own cooking."

He sighs, raking a hand through tousled bronze locks. "I just…want to give you everything."

"You do," she says, bracing herself for the vibrant torrent of his mind as she reaches across the table to brush her fingers across the back of his knuckles, smiling at the liquidation of his gaze as he catches the singular thought she pushes forward.

 _Please, believe me._

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Great Uncle Aro still hasn't written Bella back.

That's never happened before.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Where are you taking me?" she asks on the final Saturday of November. She eyes the thinning clouds in the sky with something akin to worry, but Edward doesn't seem to care that the sun would surely be shining at any moment. In fact, he drives faster, pressing the Volvo along the stretch of the back road right off the 101 with a near-giddy chuckle.

"I'm answering a question you once asked."

Her hands flop onto her thighs in exasperation. "By kidnapping me? Honestly."

He grins at her. "It's easier to show you."

He pulls onto the side of the road right and blurs to her side of the car, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he waits for her to untangle herself from the seat belt. He keeps looking up at the sky and then back at her with such obvious excitement that she can't bear to rain on his parade with her tetchiness. Instead, she indulges his peculiar request to give her a _piggyback-ride_ , locking her arms over the firm contours of his shoulders, the side of her face resting against the back of his head, flirting with a touch of their skin but never quite meeting.

"Hold on tight."

"What-"

It's like riding on the roof of a race car, she'll decide later. That's how Edward runs. The speed is unimaginable, his joy at sharing this with her more than enough to soothe her frayed nerves at seeing the world pass by too quickly for her to comprehend. But soon, the sensation of her heart taking residence in her stomach fades, replaced by a vivid exhilaration to the stinging breeze on her cheeks, blowing her hair back, the speed that blurs the world so totally also lighting the world on fire in a saturation of color that _breathes_ impressionists like Monet.

She laughs, delighted and gleeful. "Go faster," she suggests, the breath in her lungs compressed with the weight of sheer exuberance.

Bella can't hear Edward's returning laughter, but she does feel the vibration through her fingertips as he kicks his speed up a notch. She wishes that he would run for a longer time, but he stops in a small, roundish meadow littered with the evidence of autumn tidings, kneeling on the grass to make her dismount easier. Bella feels like she's floating, like her feet aren't touching the ground. She spins in a circle, dancing away from him, high on joy and impervious to gravity.

Edward watches on, seemingly content to let her be _free_ \- but then the sun breaks through the clouds and Bella can't help to stop and stare. Already unspeakably gorgeous, Edward in the sun is best reserved for myths because it is unfathomable that any person, human or vampire, could possibly be so - angelic. He doesn't sparkle in the sun so much as he shimmers, faint and iridescent, a fracture of prisms built directly into his skin.

"This is why," she breathes, breaking their staring contest with conscious effort.

"Yes. It's a bit difficult to hide."

She rolls her eyes at his blasé delivery. Bella sits in the center of the meadow, bundled into Edward's beige leather jacket that she never returned, white scarf piled high beneath her chin. She gestures for him to come closer and he does, flashing to her side, lounging back onto his elbow. He is so relaxed - it's hard to believe that someone so alive could be still as a statue if he so wished.

"Tell me about that day. Why did you attack me?" she requests simply.

Edward heaves a sigh, simultaneously dropping onto his back, disturbing the slow-dying grass and the pile of autumnal leaves with the weight of his body. His topaz gaze never wavers from her face, as if he is committing each of their shared moment to his vast memory. "Isabella Swan," he murmurs thoughtfully, reaching a hand toward her, stopping just shy of brushing her cheek. "I had so many warring instincts that day. Your blood was singing to me at the same time your soul was drawing me closer - and I didn't know, couldn't know, whether I wanted to bite you so I could kill you or bite you so I could keep you. You are a drug to me in so many different ways, Bella. My own personal brand of heroine. My drug of choice….And I cannot imagine how I could continue to live without you."

She has no adequate response to what is - for all intents and purposes - a blatant declaration of his affection. So she does not sully the moment with a clumsy response because she does not have words to communicate the exact breadth of emotion she has carved out for him within her heart.

Bella licks her lips, shifting to lean over him. "I want to try something. Don't move," she instructs.

And then with considerable purpose, Bella touches him - tracing over the arch of his heavy brow, down the straight slope of his nose, the high planes of his cheekbones and into his impossibly soft hair, absorbing every ounce of his mind that he so readily delivers. Each thought she has is answer, each touch returned with a memory of _her_ through his eyes, how he sees nothing but her, only her. Bella. _Mate_. She stops at his lips, lush and parted slightly beneath the ghosting, questing touch of her fingers.

 _Mate_ , she ponders, curling her palm to the sharpness of his jaw. _Yes._

Their lips meet unhurried, chaste, an exchange of breath that fogs her mind until she has worked her hands deep into his hair, her chest pressed against his as one arm slips around her waist and the other hand sketches the line and dip of her spine. She breaks away, inhaling raggedly, and Edward's lips meander to her sedately offered neck. Where had her scarf gone? It didn't matter. She is lost in his touch and in his mind, in that amazing chaos of thought and music and _Edward_ -

Then, abruptly, Bella finds herself on her back, staring at the underside of Edward's jaw and the snarling curl of his lip. He has braced his body over her own, protective and instinctive. And she too moves by instinct, pressing her palm against the side of his neck, following the ferocious tenor of his mind -

The female vampire is back, watching them - watching _her_.

And this time, before she can disappear beyond Edward's telepathic reach, a memory of someone speaking rises to her mind unbidden.

The vampire's name is Mele.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Great Aunt Sulpicia,_

 _At the urging of Great Uncle Aro, I am writing this incredibly embarrassing letter in the hope that it will reach you and satisfy your curiosity. There is indeed a boy who has caught my eye - Edward. He is magnetic, charming, and so very kind. Protective, too, but not overbearing, for which I must express my relief. He is old fashioned enough that his protectiveness might have come off as suffocating if he didn't respect my independence so fiercely._

 _He brings me coffee and keeps me in supply of books. He is musical, too. I have yet to hear him play his chosen instrument, but I don't doubt that he is very talented._

 _We have kissed, once. It was - incendiary. Even now, my cheeks feel hot as I recall the moment and I would not ordinarily speak of such things, but I would prefer to tell you than my mother. Could you imagine me talking to Renee about a boy? I would never hear the end of it. (So please do be gentle in your teasing!)_

 _Also…I am wondering if Great Uncle Aro is okay? He has not written me back and it is very unlike him. I am worried._

 _May this find you both in good health._

 _All my love,_

 _Your Great Grandniece Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is November.

* * *

 **A/N: Wow, guys! Amazed with the response, honestly!**

 **Okay, okay. There's a lot of questions about Charlie that I think need to be addressed. Most of you are wondering what the deal is - why Charlie doesn't seem, like, vampire-y enough? He is. He's just different than Bella. Being part vampire hasn't actually changed the characters too much; Bella was already smart in canon, right, I mean she was in advanced classes in Phoenix and a good reader, so I didn't even really change that. I figure, being part vampire will only enhance certain personality and physical quirks. The most obvious part for Charlie? On Facebook, Kim (Auntie Kim!) did the math and pointed out that Charlie is older than he physically appears - but he doesn't look it. I mean, not that Bella is consciously thinking about her father's age, but she has briefly mentioned that he has "peppery" hair, you know, so you can guess that he looks about middle age. That was intentional; that was a way to give a nod to the main vampire trait that Charlie has which, aside from his mental shield, is physical ability. Last chapter, he dislocated someone's shoulder; he's "tough"; he enjoys Bella's cooking more than Renee did. On my part, it's deliberate writing to ghost over these details about Charlie - Bella's narrative isn't explaining it because she would take all these things by rote. She wouldn't find anything strange about it. She's operating out of the assumption that she was born later in Charlie's life, that his schooling didn't have the same opportunities as her own (to accommodate higher intelligence), that he's sturdy, and that he's aging, like,** _ **super**_ **well (which isn't even all that weird because "exceptional agers" is literally part of a study by Olay, so). I didn't think that being 1/6th vampire would change Charlie all that much - he's still the same Charlie - and anyway it's not really about him. It's about Bella, who aside from her gift and tendency toward rationality, isn't all that different from canon, either.**

 **Also, someone very smart pointed out that small town cops have a pretty tough job. Stranger Things, anyone?**

 **Okay. Explanation over. Shoot me a message on my Facebook wall if there are other questions on this topic!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	6. five: december

**five**

 **december**

* * *

 **"God gave us our memories so that we might have roses in December."**

 **\- J. M. Barrie**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bright and early on the first weekend of December, Alice Cullen and Rosalie Hale show up at the Swan front door with - what Bella will eventually realize - their _shopping_ faces on. A bubble of dread takes root as Bella steps back silently, the door swinging open to release the gust of warm air that the heaters had been clanking away to create. She eyes the vampires hovering in the front hallway, then scuttles back to the kitchen, prodding at the black pudding on the stove.

It's one of the very rare weekend mornings where Charlie doesn't immediately rush off the La Push's fishing hole and Bella has made a culinary occasion of it. She says as much to the vampires, keeping her voice low as she works to dice shallots and onions and ripe tomatoes, adding a splash of whole milk to the skillet of eggs, fussing with rosemary-olive oil red potato chunks.

"We won't drag you off until you're done eating," Alice promises, seating herself at the table and shuffling through store adds that are probably not altogether necessary, considering she was psychic, rich, and possessed vampire-perfect memory.

Bella turns her head enough to catch Rosalie's dispassionate gaze as the blonde vampire trolls around the small kitchen, eyeing the food with pursed lips. Eventually, though, Rosalie says, "We're playing human today," in answer to Bella's silent inquiry.

She shakes her head. These vegetarian vampires were masochists; Emmett had been particularly colorful in relating what happened when vampires actually ate human food and Bella just can't imagine any scenario in which _Rosalie_ would force herself to go through what sounds like an extremely unpleasant purging process. Just the thought of it is almost enough to make her stomach turn, but Bella has been hungry for the last hour, a ravenous sort of craving that was quelled only slightly by another long sip of water.

She'd read somewhere that the brain confuses hunger-pangs with thirst, but even drinking entire bottles of water when she was hungry didn't soothe the ache in her belly. She supposes that _her_ brain doesn't confuse hunger and thirst. It didn't sound all that unreasonable to her logic. Besides, her increased hunger could easily be explained by teenage growth or even a hormonal imbalance; never let it be said that Bella did not search for answers where she had questions.

"You don't have to eat this," Bella replies, scraping a rubber spatula around the edge the pan with scrambled eggs, trying to give her friends a reasonable out. "Just say that ate before you came over."

Rosalie smirks, eyes butterscotch-bright. "Oh, we _did_."

Alice giggles at the wave of realization that passes over Bella's face.

"But this doesn't smell too revolting," Rosalie continues, trailing a shining emerald nail over the oven-warm plate of sausage. "What is it? I never ate anything that looked like this when I was human."

"As if you ever stepped foot inside a kitchen when you were human, Rose," Bella says with a roll of her eyes, charmed by the haughty tilt of Rosalie's head that acts as confirmation. "It's black pudding, uh, blood sausage?"

"Blood?"

"Really, it's very common. Every culture in the world has some equivalent of it," Bella says, not missing the exchange of significant looks between Rosalie and Alice. "It's not that weird."

The subject is dropped when the creak of stairs alerts them to Charlie's presence and Bella forgets all about it as she is swept through a morning of watching Alice wrangle various agreements out of a very charmed Charlie, who looks as if Alice and Rosalie are angels sent from on-high. _Yes_ , says Charlie to Alice's decree that Bella is going Christmas shopping with them. _Yes_ , says Charlie when Rosalie casually mentions that Emmett and Jasper would be bringing a fresh tree around the next day. _Yes_ , says Charlie when Alice decides that Edward will be more than happy to help with the outdoor lights. _Yes_ , says Charlie when Rosalie off-handedly asks if Bella could spend Christmas Eve with the Cullen family, considering Charlie's work schedule.

Bella watches all of this, incredibly amused as she scrapes a wedge of potato through the leftover sauce on her plate. Who would have thought that all it would take to sway her father was a pretty face? But then, of course Charlie would be vulnerable to this kind of persuasion. She'd heard the story enough from Renee - how the new junior deputy from Seattle had been so forgiving to the high school senior with the speeding ticket at the bat of an eye and a promise to dinner (of course, Renee never failed to mention that _she_ hadn't thought she would fall in love so quickly, either, especially with her plans to leave small-town Forks behind for good). Charlie was weak to a pretty face. Alice and Rosalie were prettier than most.

Sat in the backseat of Rosalie's sparkling red BMW, Bella goes along with the plan, as she suspects Alice already knew she would. She'd been planning on dragging Charlie out to Port Angeles at some point before Christmas to replace his _seriously_ outdated decorations - lights and ornaments that were probably as old as Bella - so they could share a real Christmas together. She's certain that Charlie hadn't celebrated the holiday since Renee left and while it's not exactly Bella's favorite, she enjoys the merriment just as much as anyone else. It would be nice to give some of that merriment to her father. The Swans hadn't shared the Christmas holiday since Bella was a very small girl and she ached at the thought that her father had been so lonely this last decade, exiled to the nightshift by his own volition to better avoid memories that were too painful to visit.

Alice's plan would ease the way - now, Bella could really surprise her father. Besides, what was the point of digging her heels in when the events would ultimately go in her favor? It was a skill long-learned from having Renee as a mother; Alice's willful ways were, in comparison, rather weak to the whirlwind that was Bella's flighty childhood.

Of course, it helped that Alice and Rosalie were more than comfortable to let Bella read in the car, both to and from Seattle. It's easy to tune out their vampire-quick chatter and fall into the richly long-winded world of Charles Dickens. Alice already knows the stores they should go to; Bella soon discovers that Alice's version of shopping was made all the easier by her psychic ability. There was no second-guessing for sizes or colors, no reason to hem and haw over the sale price because Alice already knew the best deals. It was rather relieving, in a way. Not so stressful, even with the crush of crowds in Seattle. If she comes home with clothes Alice insisted on buying, then at least Rosalie had been able to drag Bella to little-known shops to find old books and vintage wares. Bella's Christmas shopping is completely done in the space of a single day - quite a feat, since her number of yearly presents tripled with the addition of the Cullen-Hale brood.

Back home, she sits among the cluster of bags - decorations and presents alike - in the living room after Rosalie and Alice leave and nearly laughs herself sick.

Bella Swan had actually enjoyed _shopping_.

Maybe it had something to do with the company she keeps.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Emmett Cullen lugs a squat, fully-branched five-foot fir through the backdoor in the kitchen with a single hand, clearly showing off his vampire strength. He doesn't ask where she wants to put it because Alice has already given him explicit instruction. Jasper follows along and, with a dutiful bow of his head, sets the base of the tree into water.

"Ever had a live one?" he asks.

Bella shakes her head. Renee's idea of Christmas trees changed each year; she'd had plastic white, green, and pink; a rescued dying pine from the side of the road; even a cactus, one year, but that was never repeated and definitely _never_ spoken of. So she listens attentively as Jasper and Emmett take turns explaining how to care for a live Christmas tree. When their advice begins to conflict, she plainly asks for the manual that came with the tree base.

Emmett's boisterous laughter nearly shakes the walls of Charlie's house.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Her chest is warm as she watches Edward balance on a ladder, following her cues as to where to put soft white lights on the house. Although he doesn't require the charcoal scarf or knit cap pulled tight around his ears, it offsets the coppery sheen of his hair and the paleness of his skin - her heart rabbits when he smiles at her from the roof. He is enjoying this bit of domestically the way only a boy from the Victorian age could.

Bella, with her hands warmed by mittens and a half-full thermos of coffee, finds that she doesn't mind it one bit.

She's fifteen, but she's never felt her age. Never fitting in with her peers, always a tad more mature than even the adults around her - on intellectual par with people decades older than herself. Whether by being forced into a parental role by her mother's childishness or by the inevitability of maturity through the insight of her gift, she wasn't sure. Did it matter? She didn't _feel_ fifteen. She didn't _feel_ frightened by the gravity of what is by all counts a serious relationship, even in its fledgling stages. It felt _right_.

 _Mate_ , Edward had thought - and she had agreed with so little hesitation.

Did humans feel it, too, that instant bond of attraction that was not at all unlike the propelling force of magnets? Opposites attract, right, but in their case, opposites complete each other. They are opposite ends of a compound sentence, the beginning and the end of a book, met in the middle by a kiss in that meadow. Their singular kiss, but she wasn't going to count. She knew there would be others - and she knew his restraint was in deference to her age as much as it was to his ingrained sense of propriety. Which was a sweet thought and greatly appreciated, but she didn't consider it necessary, truly.

Her mind was already fully devoted to Edward. She couldn't imagine that her body would not soon follow - when she was ready, whenever that may be. The trouble would be in convincing him, she's sure.

Bella occludes her sense of glee at that inevitable argument. The promise of Edward's opposition - a rarity, for they were generally compatible in most things - and the mental work-out she would undergo in convincing him was _exciting_.

Is that odd? Should she _want_ to argue with her partner? Perhaps she looked forward to it because she could already sense victory.

Still, it wasn't the right time. She has desires, but she's not ready - and more importantly, _he's_ not ready. The last thing she wanted to do was demand he compromise his sense of morality before either of them was prepared for a physical relationship. They were new. They were immutable. There was time.

"Up on the left," she instructs in a low murmur, biting the inside of her cheek to mute her inane smile. Edward didn't really _need_ her instructions from the ground, but for the last fifteen minutes he'd been messing up on purpose, drawing the time out for longer than was really needed. Savoring the moment, imprinting it into his memory. She catches him doing it all the time.

"Like this?" he calls down, just at the perfect volume for her weaker ears to catch.

Her eyes gleam. "Now up on the other side," she says, as if it's actually possible to hang a round wreath crookedly. "Still doesn't look right."

"Is that so?"

"Maybe it needs to go higher."

He laughs outright at her mischievousness. "Maybe we need a second opinion," he retorts, dropping his arms and looking down the street.

She follows his line of sight, catching the front bumper of the cruiser a good thirty seconds before Charlie actually pulls into the drive. The engine dies, headlights cutting off, and Charlie steps out, rubbing at the shadow on his jaw. He snorts when Edward asks him to settle the score, then watches with a faraway look in his eye as Edward finishes adjusting the outdoor decorations to Bella's specifications, arm tossed over her diminutive shoulder.

"He's a good boy, huh?"

Bella doesn't think that Charlie is actually looking for an answer, but she responds anyway, boldly ignoring the flare of embarrassment in the honesty of expressing her truest feelings. "Yes, he is."

It's worth it for the happiness coating Edward's mind when they part ways after the outdoor lights are casting warmth onto the frost-bitten front yard, the touch of their hands lingering and sweet. Better yet is Charlie's quiet approval of her relationship, of Edward. He's leery of how quickly it's become so serious, but she knows from his thoughts, that he sees his own lost love in the way she and Edward revolve around each other - even so soon after establishing themselves. He sees her happiness, a shining, fragile thing that he does not want to see broken. He sees that Edward Cullen has given something that she had sorely been lacking, something that she could not find in books or in the world around her - a companion, a peer, a love.

That night, the Swan household is alight with new memories and the crooning of Bing Crosby as Bella ropes her father into swathing their tree with golden ribbons, fresh pine cones, and bronzed glass ornaments in the shape of balls and antlers. They step back and stare at the tree, at the piney garland weaved through the stair bannister, and the unorganized rolls of wrapping paper stuffed under the burlap treeskirt. Charlie kisses her forehead, mustache tickling her skin.

Not even Christmas Eve and it is already the best, truest Christmas Bella has ever had.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"-gether? Hello? Space cadet Bella!"

Bella's eyes rise slowly from the page she'd been reading as she wandered from her English classroom toward the general direction of the cafeteria. She blinks, taking in her relative location, and concluding that she'd been walking _awfully_ slow if she was one of the only people still left in the outdoor hallway, uncaring of the nip of winter winds against her nose and cheek as she lost herself in the enduring fiction of _Little Women_. Then, she frowns. Jessica had snapped at her again - even if she hadn't heard it this time, she just _knows_ that the bubbly, curly-headed girl had the audacity to perform such an action for a second time. And lo and behold - there is Jessica, a foot to her left, tapping her foot impatiently, her brows raised in expectation.

Bella has seen that expression before. It's Jessica's _gossip face_. She's immediately weary.

"Sorry, what?"

Jessica rolls her eyes. "Bella! Are you going to make me _beg_ for details?"

Unsure of what Jessica's initial goal in accosting her had been, Bella can only flatly reply, "Yes."

Jessica huffs in irritation, but then goes on to repeat herself, probably for the third time by this point. "So, are you and Edward Cullen, like, _together?_ "

 _Oh_ , Bella realizes, closing her book and hugging the worn cover to her chest. This was new. Bella has never been the subject of gossip before, really. She'd always been so insulated, so caught up in her own world of books and academia to even be tangentially involved in anything noteworthy enough to grab the attention of her age-mates. Until now. If she's being honest, she didn't really understand how any relationship of hers would strike the interest of Forks High's runner-up gossip queen - but then again, there did seem to be something scandalous about a seventeen year old dating a fifteen year old, even if said fifteen year old was a senior and said seventeen year old a junior. Maybe it was the oddity of her circumstances, being in advanced classes and graduating light-years ahead of her age-mates, that made the situation newsworthy. Or perhaps because it was Edward Cullen, who had been the solo-man for as long as he'd been in Forks. Or maybe it was because Edward was not being at all subtle in his advances, often meeting her outside of classes to escort her through the awning-covered hallways, thus drawing attention to both of them.

"Bella! It's not a hard question! Are you or aren't you?"

There's no escaping, is there? Jessica was like a dog with a bone. Maybe simple answers was the easiest way to go about this. "Yes," she answers, preparing to take a step forward, only to be halted in her tracks by Jessica's ear-splitting squeal and outrageous display of clapping.

"Oh, my God! Wow!" she exclaims. "What's that like? Have you gone out a lot? What about your dad - does he approve? How couldn't he, right, I mean Edward's, like, _Edward Cullen_!"

Bella flounders, not sure how to answer any of these questions and certainly not willing to. It's not really any of Jessica's business. How to put that politely? Is there a polite way? Diplomacy isn't exactly Bella's strong suit, though, so in the end she simply says, "I was supposed to meet him, actually, for lunch. So I should…go."

The delivery is so awkward though and it's clear that Jessica doesn't really buy it. Bella is scrambling for her seldom-used social skills when, blessedly, a familiar honeyed voice calls out from down the hall. "There you are," Edward says, purposefully exhaling as if he had worked his respiration rate upward in search for her. He was an excellent actor. Bella would bet money that Alice had sent him along, that clever psychic. "I've been looking everywhere."

Bella's lips twitch. "I'm sorry. I was caught up."

Edward deliberately eyes her book rather than the obvious cause of her delay, which watches this exchange with round eyes. "Let me guess, you were multitasking?"

"Guilty."

"You know, you would probably have more time to read if you just waited to get to your destination rather than trying to read _and_ walk at the same time."

"That sounds so boring," Bella teases.

Edward's firm arm slips around her waist, his other hand reaching for the book as he subtly turns them away from Jessica. The curl of his palm over the curve of her hip, a proprietary touch, kindles a new sort of yearning in Bella. She wants to kiss him desperately in that one moment, a feeling so overwhelming that she nearly does it. Instead, she bites her lip and engages in his gentle ribbing.

"I admit that the hallways aren't quite so fascinating as the drama of the March family, but at least then you wouldn't be so cold."

"I'm not cold," she argues, then catching the first part of his sentence, tilts her face upward in unabashed enthusiasm as they walk toward the cafeteria, Jessica long-forgotten in the wake of their intimate bubble. Bella has to tilt her head quite far, for Edward is a good eight inches taller than herself, but all that really means is that she fits neatly into his side. "Edward Cullen, did you just admit to reading _Little Women_?"

"Of course. You said it was one of your favorite books."

"I have many favorite books."

Edward grins boyishly, winking at her with eyes the same shade as raw honey. "And I endeavor to read them all."

"You'll be reading for ages," she tells him, only partially serious.

His fingers slip against her own and for a moment, they are both cradling the spine of _Little Women_. His sincerity radiates through his mind, brighter than the white noise of his telepathy or the plucking notes of a melody always being re-written in the background of his thoughts. "It's a good thing that I happen to have a lot of years to spare, then."

This time, she doesn't resist pressing a sweet kiss to the hinge of his jaw.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Great Uncle Aro & Great Aunt Sulpicia,_

 _As I know of no other way to contact you, I am sending this letter out as a final Hail Mary attempt to reach either of you. This is the longest we have not been exchanging letters since I learned how to write. To say that I am worried is an extreme understatement of the exact degree of my concern for both of you._

 _Please, write back. Please._

 _All my love,_

 _Your Great Grandniece Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Great Uncle Aro still hasn't written back by the third week of December.

Neither has Great Aunt Sulpicia.

And the vampire Mele is still skirting around the range of Edward's telepathy, her movements too unpredictable for Alice to predict, and her emotions too muted for Jasper to latch onto.

All three are cause for concern. Bella doesn't know which to be more worried about and as the uncertainty of a vampire stalking his mate continues, Edward becomes steadily more protective, even to the point where he hunts only small game in favor of watching over Bella from his perch in the tree in her backyard. His eyes are darkening by the day and her sleeplessness grows by the night.

Something has to give.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Honestly, though, Bella didn't think it would be her bookcase to give in first. The shelves have been bowing, creaking, slowly warping under the weight of her books since August and now the day has come where they threaten to give out.

It is the night before Christmas Eve; Charlie is toiling away at the night shifts that he has taken for the majority of the month and Bella had taken the opportunity to absolutely hog the bathroom, languishing in a bubble bath of Great Aunt Sulpicia's dwindling soaps for an hour until she is pink and pruned. Cloaked only in a deep plum bathrobe, she pads from the bathroom to her bedroom, pulling a brush through long tresses of espresso-dark hair. Her mind is a million miles away, caught up in the unanswered mystery of where her relatives have disappeared, in the babbling phone call she'd shared with Renee a few hours earlier, lingering over the dryness of her throat.

She sets the brush down on her desk, then moves forward to consider her bookcase. She'd worked her way through several books this year and with Christmas Eve on the horizon, it is time she celebrate the holiday in her own way with an annual reading of _A Christmas Carol_. A pinch works its way into her heart. Her copy of the book was a gift from Great Uncle Aro.

Where did she put it? She knew it was somewhere on the bookcase; Phil had been good enough to send _all_ of her books, which meant that she didn't have any missing from her ever-growing collection. But Bella also didn't have an organizational system, so locating it might take some time. She searches each shelf with a keen eye, tilting her head to read the titles of books that are stacked horizontally; she crouches to give the lower shelves equal attention, then places her hand on a mid-level shelf to steady herself as she stands. The shelf groans in protest at even that slight weight and quite suddenly, Bella is forced to leap backward to protect her bare feet from the clomp of books on that shelf falling to the floor.

She stares at the shelf, almost feeling betrayed as she examines the other shelves for similar signs of weakness. As she does so, though, she catches sight of a familiar spine and the name _Dickens_ balanced on the very top of the shelf, just barely within reach. Bella picks her way around the fallen books, stretching onto her tip-toes - and then another shelf gives out, swamping her bedroom floor with another flood of pages _and_ making the bookcase rock forward, setting _A Christmas Carol_ off balance and decidedly out a reach as the slim novel wedges between the back of the bookcase and her dusty purple wall.

"Unbelievable," she mutters.

What was she going to do, now? Until she got a new shelf, her books would simply have to take up residence below the window, but for the moment, she really needed to address the inevitability of other shelves simply giving up. She certainly didn't want to be woken in the night to the alarming sound of books toppling to the floor. Only Bella was small and not known for her great physical strength - and it had taken quite a bit of maneuvering between Charlie and herself to even get the solid oak bookcase up the stairs. Broken or not, there was no way she would be moving it by herself.

But she did know someone who could.

Gingerly, Bella steps around the books on the floor and pries open her window, wrapping her arms securely around herself as cold December wind seeps into her room. She looks at the tree in her backyard, catching the subtle glow of milky skin among the shadows. "Edward," she calls softly. "Can you help me?"

Even this far away, she can see that he visibly hesitates. She wonders _why_ and then realizes that she's still in her bathrobe. Oh.

"I really do need help," she says, fighting the fierce blush dawning in her cheeks. "My bookshelf is very slowly disintegrating before my eyes and I'd really rather not just leave the mess until the morning. If you could just put that vampiric strength to good use…"

It's too dark for her to see him move, but in the next moment his long fingers are curled over the edge of her windowsill and he is easily hefting himself into her room at human speed, one leg at a time, his eyes rather fixated on her own in an effort to remain polite. He's not breathing, she notices.

Bella clears her throat daintily. "I'll just go change."

Edward nods, pointedly turning his head toward the window and doing his best impression of a statue as she riffles through drawers. Inanely, she wants to touch him at that very moment - nothing more than a graze over the sharp angle of his cheekbone just to get a sense of what he's thinking, what he's feeling. She thinks she understands his frustration at being unable to read her thoughts at his own leisure.

She disappears into the bathroom, hurriedly tugging on fleece-lined pitch-black leggings, a thick, oversized burgundy cowl-neck sweater, and thick socks that are too big to do anything but bunch around her ankles. In the mirror, the mossy green of her eyes is bright with an uncharacteristic bout of nerves. Butterflies are in her stomach. There's a _boy_ in her room.

 _Edward_ is in her room.

Thanks in large part to vampire speed, Edward has already stacked her books neatly to the side and done something with the two broken shelves - probably took them outside to the trash. He is waiting when she comes back, lithe and stunning in the soft light of her lamp. He looks about as nervous as she feels and that in turn makes her relax. She sets to silently clearing the shelves of books, brushing elbows with him every once in a while as they work at human pace. Then he picks the heavy shelving up and lugs it outside to the curb, reappearing before Bella has even picked up _A Christmas Carol_ , his hair ruffled from the speed.

"How will you explain moving that by yourself?"

Bella shrugs, wandering over to her desk to place the book down. "I'll tell Charlie that it was adrenaline," she decides glibly. And then her gaze catches on the letter she has yet to send out, the letter pleading for any kind of response, and she has to squeeze her eyes shut tightly to hold back the hot burn of tears suddenly threatening to overflow.

"Bella?" Edward asks, his chest pressed lightly against her back as he places a tender hand to her shoulder. "Why are you sad? Are you crying?"

She sniffles, feeling completely ridiculous. "Oh, I'm not _sad_ , precisely. I'm…anxious. Worried. My Great Uncle Aro hasn't written me back in a while and it's not really like him to not respond to my letters…" She stops, breath catching at the stillness she senses from him, at the minute tightening of his hand on her shoulder. "Edward?"

"Did you say Aro?" he breathes. The shock in his tone is enough to make her turn around, peering up at his expression with curiosity; his eyes are wide, but the pupil are blown-open and darkening his gaze by the second, tracking her with an emotion that she cannot name.

"Yes, I did," she confirms slowly, frowning. "It's a perfectly common name, isn't it?"

"Not in my world," he intones darkly, almost a growl.

Bella shakes her head. "What do you mean _your_ world?"

"Could you show me these letters?" At her dubious hesitation, his countenance softens. "I just - I need to be sure, Bella. Please let me see these letters."

"Alright," she agrees, stepping to the side of her desk and pushing her keepsake box forward, lifting the lid to wave one of the broken-wax seals beneath his nose. "Here, I keep them in this box."

Edward isn't exactly listening, though. He's eying the box and the letter with alarm, tracing his hands over the fine etching on the face of the wood. "The seal," he whispers in disbelief. "Even the box is emblazoned with it…Bella, do you have anything else from Aro?"

Bella is extremely confused, but not enough that she plans to ignore the line of Edward's questioning. Even if she were blind, she thinks she would be able to see the flare of protection that straightens his shoulders, hones his every sense on her entire person. And Edward doesn't keep secrets; if she plays along, he'll tell her what all of these dramatics are about.

So, she nudges the book she's kept on her desk for most of the semester with the back of her knuckles. "Well, he sends me books constantly. See? _Secrets: On the Ethics of Concealment and Revelation…_ But he doesn't sign them if you're looking for a particular flourish."

"Is there anything else?" Edward asks carefully. He casts his eye around her room critically, looking for evidence of _something_.

"Edward, what is this all about?"

"Bella," he growls, facing her fully with those dark eyes, and she doesn't feel threatened, exactly, but more like she is being _strongly_ encouraged to be forthcoming right now - because for whatever reason, her mate thinks it's necessary. "Is there _anything_ else?"

She bites her lip. "His wife, Sulpicia, sends me jewelry sometimes. I'm wearing earrings she gave me for my birthday, see?" she asks as she tucks her hair behind her ear, letting him study the delicate ruby-silver stud pressing through her flesh.

Edward's hands pull through his hair as he bites back a serious of rumbling growls. "You've been marked by them," he declares around a snarl, pacing with agitation. "Claimed by the Volturi - but _why_?"

Bella reaches out, pressing a hand to the center of his chest, effectively halting a caged lion. "Hey, hey," she says soothingly, their skin separated by two layers of wool and cotton. "What are you talking about? What's the Volturi?"

Edward's eyes dart over her face, his inhalations deep and reaffirming under the heat of her palm. He swallows as he slips his hands over the curve of her upper back, pausing on the dip of her waist as he pulls her protectively against his chest. When he speaks, the deep rumble of his chest cleanses the tension she felt building behind her eyes. "We need to speak with Carlisle - now."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

By the time they arrive to the Cullen house - a magnificent architectural structure set deep into the woods, a dizzying marriage of glass and steel and wood that she suspects has Esme's hand in design - with Bella on Edward's back, snuggled beneath his jacket and scarf to better mask her scent, the entire Cullen family is waiting for them. Clearly, Alice knew they were coming; better yet, Alice had even filled the entire family in on the events that had taken place in Bella's room.

The benefits of psychics are boundless, but Bella is discovering that even Alice has limits to what she knows.

Edward deposits Bella onto a butter-soft suede sectional in the middle of a clean, white-shaded living room that had been taken over by a classic myriad of Christmas décor - most obviously is the eight-foot tree set in the corner across from a black baby grand piano scattered with music parchment. She recognizes several decorations from that trip to Seattle earlier in the month, but the way that Alice had so delicately, deliberately placed each string of tinsel, each sparkling glass ornament, each string of tiny fairy lights is nothing short of magical. Her appreciation of this portion of the Cullen household is somewhat ruined by the width of Edward's back as he blocks her partially from view, a faint growl rattling through his chest.

Bella reaches for his sweater-clad wrist, effectively cooling his aggravated temper - fueled by what she _knows_ is a deep-rooted fear of this _Volturi_ Coven - as she tugs on his arm, forcing him to sit down next to her. He doesn't fully relax, one of his arms reaching over her knees to lock her back securely against the couch cushions even as he remains stiffly perched on the edge of the seat. She doesn't begrudge him this, does not fight against it. If taking protective stances makes him feel better about _her_ safety, then she is glad to indulge him.

She is less charmed by the rapid-fire discussion that takes place too lowly for her human ears to hear - even lovely Esme Cullen joins the volley discussion. She sits with a pinched frown until seven heads turn in her direction. She stares back expectantly.

"Why would the damn Volturi be interested in a little human girl?" Jasper drawls, hands clasped behind his back as he eyes her speculatively.

 _That's the million dollar question_ , she thinks, careful to have her hands tucked away inside the too-long sleeves of her sweater and Edward's heavy jacket. She was cutting herself off from feeling her mate's thoughts because on the run over, her cheek had brushed against his and her head had positively spun at the dump of information she'd received.

The Volturi Coven, the effective rulers of the entire vampire race for the last two thousand years, heralded by a guard of extremely gifted vampires and extremely cunning leaders - one of whom was apparently named Aro and who Carlisle had evidently spent time with shortly after his change. Edward's mind had touched upon a painting Carlisle kept in the house that showed all three leaders - kings? - of the Volturi Coven and their mates, and his attention had lingered over _Aro, Aro, everything about the vampire Aro, the touch-telepath Aro, the ruthlessly ambitious Aro, the threat to his_ mate _Aro -_

Bella had flinched away, pressing the crown of her head into the back of his neck instead of risking more skin contact. The ordinary chaos of Edward's mind, a byproduct of his constant telepathy, had been an avalanche of disordered emotions and ideas and just - just _too much_ for Bella to handle at the moment.

"Well," Carlisle sighs leadingly, sitting down on the couch even though he doesn't have to. She has the sense that he's leveling himself to make both she and Edward feel better.

Edward seems to catch something in Carlisle's thoughts, as his rumbles abruptly cut off. "Is that possible?" he demands, whipping his head around to glare at his sire. "Carlisle, that's _speculation_ , a theory - unless you can prove it -"

"To be perfectly honest, I did suspect when I examined you at the hospital, Bella," Carlisle says calmly, completely ignoring Edward's ire, tilting his head to study her with clinical efficiency. "Your medical records are remarkably sparse, not to mention that for a human who has never been vaccinated, your immune system should not be so efficient."

"That's not so weird. Renee honestly believes that vaccines cause autism…" Bella says weakly. Even without any of them saying it out loud, she already knows the direction all of this is heading. It's only logical. _Unbelievable_ , but logical.

"You've never had chicken pox, have you?" counters Carlisle gently. "It's a very common childhood disease."

"I - Well, no…" Bella trails off, shaking her head with a huff of exasperation. "Oh, my God. You really think I'm, what, part _vampire_? Are you serious?"

Edward looks at her from the corner of his eye, but says nothing. He doesn't have to. It's written plainly on his face - and the faces of his family - that they do actually believe that Bella isn't entirely human. _Ridiculous_.

Rosalie leans her hip on the side of the couch, arms crossed over her chest. "It would explain why it seems to difficult to injure you. For a human, you're exceptionally difficult to bruise."

"Yeah," Emmett agrees with an excitable bounce of his large body. "Even Eddie-boy slamming you around didn't leave a mark." He winks, unbothered by Edward's warning growl.

"Plus your gift is just _so_ developed," Alice adds, wringing her hands together.

Carlisle nods. "Yes, that is a considerable addition. Humans typically only display an inkling toward a gift, not a fully-realized one."

Bella begins to shake her head in denial, but then Edward says, "Plus the blood."

"What?" she asks dumbly as he twists around to watch her with bourbon-dark eyes.

"You cook with blood," he explains, as if that proved some point.

"That's not proof!" she refutes, clapping her hands onto her thighs. "Honestly! Cultures all over the world cook with blood. It's actually the mark of culinary accomplishment!"

"Yes," he agrees, brow knit together. "But I've noticed that every time you stop by the butchers, you are especially thirsty for as long as you are directly exposed to fresh blood. You never express that much thirst otherwise."

Bella reels. That was - true, wasn't it. Oh, God. It was _true_. Everything else seemed incredibly circumstantial, but Edward wouldn't lie to her, he wouldn't bring something up unless he was _sure_. And if she thought about it for longer than a second, she couldn't deny the evidence glaring right in her face. Really, Bella didn't know anyone who ate a diet similar to her own that was so heavily tilted toward red meats and blood-laced recipes. She'd never given it much thought - after puberty hit, she'd started eating more meat without really thinking about it. And that _was_ weird, wasn't it? It was. Oh, it really was.

"Chief Swan too, then. Right?" Emmett asks.

"What?" Bella bleats. " _Charlie_ is part vampire, too?"

Emmett shrugs, but it is Carlisle who answers with a thoughtful lilt. "Now that you mention it, Charles Swan has aged unbelievably well for a human…"

Bella covers her face with her hands. There is too much guesswork at play - not enough concrete evidence. In the span of ten minutes, they'd gone from worry about the Volturi's interest in her via Aro - who was, what, tricking her for the last ten years just to keep her close for some ludicrous reason? - to speculating that she wasn't exactly _human_. And now they were dragging her father into it.

"There has to be a way to prove it," she says, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Carlisle, could you tell that sort of thing from a blood analysis?"

Carlisle nods, snapping his fingers. "Excellent suggestion, Bella. Allow me to fetch my medical bag and -"

Edward hisses, lips pulled back to fully expose two rows of deadly teeth, slipping into a crouch at her feet. At the same moment, Alice whirls to face the front door with a gasp. The rest of the Cullen coven scatter into positions that feel well-rehearsed; Emmett and Jasper each stepping to the side of the front door, Carlisle between them, Esme protecting Alice's back, and Rosalie guarding Edward's side.

Not to be left out, Bella braces herself, pushes her sleeve over her finger tips, and grazes the side of Edward's neck -

Mele has decided to come into range with the clear intention of speaking with the Cullens.

Mele has not come alone - on her heels are two vampires who, even to Edward's mind, feel absolutely _ancient_ , easily masking the majority of their thoughts from him, a skill that could not have been learned by coincidence.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella isn't sure how she expected this confrontation to begin, but she certainly wouldn't have thought it would start with a casual knock on the front door of the Cullen household. Her vantage point is awkward, but she is able to see the way Emmett and Jasper fall back just enough for Carlisle to open the door.

Her heart leaps to her throat when she hears a warm, orotund voice warmly say, "Ah, Carlisle, my dear old friend. Might you allow into your fine home? Sulpicia and I have gone through terrible trouble to arrive so covertly. It would be a shame if our secrecy was compromised."

"Of course," Carlisle answers courteously. "Please, do come inside."

The first one who enters is a young female vampire of obvious African descent, her exquisite bone structure highlighted by the richness of her complexion, her hair shorn close to her head and her eyes a brilliant shade of persimmon. She is as tall as Rosalie, dressed in simple dark clothes that only emphasize her serious visage. Still touching Edward's neck, Bella immediately knows that this is _Mele_ \- the vampire who had been watching her for so long, the vampire that would have stopped the SUV in the school parking lot, the vampire who had ripped the throat out of a man who had dared lay a hand on Bella. Mele does not bother to mask her thoughts from Edward and so through him, Bella is able to detect a flare of warmth that Mele feels for her, an almost maternal emotion that does not show on her face.

Mele's eyes linger on Bella for a brief second - _making sure that she is comfortable and safe_ \- before she steps aside, allowing entrance to the next two vampires.

The woman - she must have been close to Carlisle's physical age - draws Bella's attention first when she makes a short-lived sound, a gasp of joy that is muffled by the flutter of her delicate hand over a rose-bud mouth. Her eyes, an incredible shade of vermillion, shine with untamed emotion; if vampires could cry, this ultra pale, auburn-haired vampire would _. Sulpicia_ , the name gleaned from Carlisle's mind, who stands with regal grace, covered head-to-toe in a white cloak just a shade darker than the translucence of her skin, her hair coiled around a golden metal band that tapers from temple to temple.

Bella drags her eyes away, drawn to the male vampire, who could only be _Aro_. He is tall and more obviously ancient than Sulpicia, with a pallid complexion and a milky tinge to the glittering garnet of his eyes; his hair is long, far past his shoulders and perfectly straight, nearly as dark as Bella's; but more importantly is the shape of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the width of his brow, all of which look so _familiar_. It takes her a moment to realize that it seems familiar because she has seen those features in other faces. Like Charlie's. Like her own image in the mirror, though it is less obvious; Bella's nose turns up at the end, her chin is more narrow, her cheekbones softer and higher.

It's the shape of his eyes that really gets her, though. Even with the shade so alarmingly red, the upturned curve of his eyes are exactly like her own and as she stares at him, she is accosted by an image that she knows is from Aro's human memory - _Aro studying the shade of mossy-green in the imperfect metal reflection of ancient Greek mirrors_.

Bella doesn't have the same perception of time that vampires do. For her, the moments since these three vampires entered the Cullen home have felt like an eternity; but by Edward's perception, it has been only three seconds. So, when she breaks the silence, it already feels like the conclusion had been decided _eons_ beforehand and not in the space of a single heart beat.

"It's true," she breathes.

Aro's lips stretch into a wide smile. "Precious," he greets, holding out a hand as he steps forward, palm turned up, wrist vulnerable. "We have waited so very long to meet you."

Bella is standing before she even really realizes it, before she even registers that Edward is following, shadowing her as she reaches for Aro's hand. Not stopping her - likely realizing that it was inevitable - but not blindly trusting her safety in such precarious, unsure moments. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches Jasper's watchful posture, Alice's enamored expression, and the radiating sense of caution projected by the rest of the Cullens.

She doesn't pay them any mind.

Her fingers slip over Aro's cool, smooth palm - and the feeling is visceral. She hadn't even thought about it, but she's pushing her mind forward to meet his, just as instinctive as she does for Edward, inherently trusting that Aro would not harm her. And in fact, even as she realizes that his telepathy is _different_ from hers and different from Edwards, she notes that he cradles her thoughts as gently as he can, gossamer-soft and so unbelievably fond.

 _Grandfather,_ she realizes. In actuality, great-great-grandfather is the correct term, but even that was imprecise to describe the nature of their relationship, nurtured so tenderly for her entire life.

 _Granddaughter,_ he returns, joyous and fierce with his recognition of her, with the ability to finally lay eyes on her _personally_ , to breathe her scent and hear the thrum of her still-human heart. He has been waiting for her, for the heir of his long life - to make up for his mistakes, yes, but also to usher in a new age of enlightenment. She is tool as much as she is beloved and she does not hold that against him. That is the essence of his being, to use everything to his advantage.

How can she be angered by that when she has a tendency to do the same? There was a sense of entitlement that telepathy ingrained into a person, after all, and not even Bella had escaped that clutch of power.

Bella sniffles, overcome by emotion. And then she is in Aro's arms, wrapped safely in an embrace that he had been denied - first in his firstborn, Arilpicia, and in her son, Fozino, who had been raised so far out of his reach, and then in Charles, who had been taken further away. In Bella, he had finally had the chance to be a _father_ , in a way, but it too had been limited. She _knows_ all of this, for he has not released her hand and has no immediate plans of doing so.

"Do not cry, dearest," he murmurs, stroking her hair.

"You _worried_ me," she tells him, clenching his fingers in her weak grip. "Why didn't you answer my letters?"

"Oh, sweetling," Sulpicia sighs, catching Bella's gaze. "It was necessary in order to make all the arrangements so that we could come here."

"Yes," Aro agrees, kissing her forehead. "Mele has been ever-so watchful, precious, but the time has come where you cannot remain hidden from the world-"

"The brothers know?" Edward interjects, a note of danger in his tone, oblivious to the warning look that Carlisle aims in his direction and uncaring of the way Mele shifts ever so slightly, weight rolling to the balls of her feet. "You _told_ Marcus and Caius about Bella?"

Aro releases Bella, reluctantly separating their hands. But his facial expressions have a maniacal sort of ease to them, more animated than she would have guessed, and he smiles at Edward with bemusement. "Ah, you are the mate I have heard so much about," he says genially. "Young Edward Cullen with all of that genteel restraint, yes? I suppose I have no choice but to approve of you, given my darling granddaughter's attachment to your wellbeing, but it would serve you to remember exactly to whom you are speaking."

Edward holds his ground, pivoting to hover protectively over Bella's shoulder.

Aro laughs. "I did tell the Volturi about Isabella's existence, yes. I'm afraid I had to if I want all of my plans play out smoothly. But I assure you all, my granddaughter is not at risk." His expression turns stormy, foreboding. "I would never allow that to happen."

Sulpicia touches his shoulder, then smiles at the room at large. "Please, may we sit? We have ever so much to speak about and so little time to do so."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is December.

* * *

 **A/N: You guys. I had fun with this chapter - hope the reunion (does it count as a reunion if there was never a union in the first place?) was handled well. We're moving along in the story line at a nice clip, but the action does not stop here. I've only done, like, half of canon-Twilights events, so. There's things to look forward to!**

 **There have been questions about the wolves! Answers: Honestly, didn't really think about it much beyond the fact that Sam, Jared, and Paul have shifted; Jacob will not; the wolves still have a treaty with the Cullens; they definitely smell vampire on Charlie, but not necessarily that** _ **Charlie**_ **is the vampire they smell.**

 **Anyway! As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	7. six: january

**six**

 **january**

* * *

 **"Ring out the old, ring in the new,**

 **Ring, happy bells, across the snow:**

 **The year is going, let him go;**

 **Ring out the false, ring in the true."**

 **\- Alfred Lord Tennyson**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella is sensible. It is, she thinks, one of her strongest traits - something that is an extension of her gift, something that is ingrained deeply into the part of her mind that is undeniably pragmatic, something that is a reflection of the sensitivity she feels in each moment. Part of her sensibility is an intense respect - a demand - for honesty, for the simplicity of logic. She holds herself to this standard, maybe to account for the way a single touch of her hand can rob those around her of their secrets, expose their lies, uncover their fears.

Bella is sensible - and so while a tiny part of her is _incensed_ by the falsehood that rings so unequivocally through the very cells that make up her being, a much larger part is relieved. All her life, she had been _different_ in some way. Too smart. Too quiet. Too pale, too healthy. Too… _knowing_. And now, there was an answer that she could confirm just by holding the hand of a man, of a vampire, who is biologically her great-great-grandfather.

Her eyes are open, now. She understands - she has gleaned _so much_ from Aro's mind, which he leaves open to her perusal, always watching on with amazement as she uses the gift she had inherited from him, a gift that was dormant for generations and that had manifested so _uniquely_ in her. Their connection is not as refined as the one she shares with Edward, but it is close, the passage eased by Aro's desire to shine light on every horrible, shocking, ruthless shadow he possesses. He hides nothing. He doesn't even try.

Anyone else would be terrified of Aro - and they would be right. He and Sulpicia had been so incredibly _unethical_ , casting humans aside as nothing more than incubators, using women as nothing more than acceptable substitutes, all to get what they each wanted. A family. An heir. And Aro had not _cared_ until his daughter was born, but even then, he regarded her measuredly, wondering at the impossibility of her life but more interested in the next generation she would birth. She was not gifted; her son was not gifted; and his son was only barely gifted, a partial shield in the mind. All useless to Aro - until Bella.

 _You are callous_ , she directs to him, blunt but not unkind.

 _Yes_ , Aro agrees, enthralled by her, _amazed_ that the thing he'd waited for so long had finally arrived. Like a much awaited toy, a prize on the shelf, but one that inspired unprecedented feelings in him.

Bella had no doubt that Aro loved her, just as she did not doubt that Sulpicia - denied motherhood for so long, first because it was not possible, and then because it was imperative to keep her husband's children secret, always a secret - loved her dearly. And she loved them.

It was illogical to deny truths that were self-evident.

The situation was complicated, the motivations all knotted tightly together to the point where it was unclear if this hybrid experimentation was sill posited around the original goal - a family, an heir, a tool. Living proof that it was _possible_ to propagate a greater species. Aro's mind was a work of philosophy, honed to think of every angle, of every perspective, of every use. He considered Marcus, how he would marvel at vampiric familial bonds, how he would cherish the opportunity to provide Didyme with a child. He considered Caius, who saw humans as nothing more than particularly entertaining cattle, but who would see the advantage of integration that hybrids provided the opportunity to exploit. He thought of himself, of his own ill-ease at the evidence of the human race trying so very hard to destroy themselves and the planet, and how hybrids would bridge the gap between vampire and human, and thus bridge the gap between governance over both races. Above all else, Aro wanted power - but he wanted that power to be peaceful, a desire that Caius sometimes derided, and yet a desire that Aro would not compromise anything, including power, for. He believed in fairness, blind justice, and when it suited him, compromise.

But Aro had not yet decided - fully - where he would fit Bella into this plan. When she had been an infant, he'd had every intention of siring her, of bringing her under the protection of his wing in Volterra, of perhaps pairing her with a vampire called Alec who would suit her just fine. But now, she is mated to the childe of a vampire he considers an ally and she is grown and that changes things.

There is the mystery of when she would stop aging, or if she would continue to grow at a human pace; Charlie's aging had slowed to a crawl after he hit middle-adulthood; Fozino's aging had halted during early-adulthood; Arilpicia had stopped before she even looked twenty human years. Bella follows the evidence in Aro's mind and finds herself agreeing with him - she could likely continue to age at a normal human rate until the rest of her vampiric genes were activated.

 _What if I am not like you when I change? What if I am a different kind of vampire?_ It was something Bella had begun to think about, the possibility that too many unknown variables over the last three generations would coalesce within her and create a different variation of the kind of vampires she knew. And she had also begun to consider the possibility of different breeds of vampires being possible _\- Aro_ might believe that he was the first to create a successful hybrid, but what if that was not true? What if there were vampires who did have fangs? Who did burn in the sun? When he'd taken power, Aro had never bothered to correct the propaganda the Romanian's used to keep humans from discovering their true nature - but what if that propaganda had some truth to it?

 _Perhaps_ , Aro concedes, a new coil of wonder veering through his subconscious. He would think on _those_ possibilities later, she knew. His mind is still whirring on the other issue - the conundrum of how to activate the store of venom built up in her cells. Through a bite is the means Aro believes to be a sufficient catalyst.

And Aro fiercely wonders how that might happen - Arilpicia simply _was_ half-vampire, more inclined to blood than food, and her son was much the same, though he could go longer without drinking the iron-rich ambrosia running through human veins. Charlie did not seem to feel any inclination, but Bella shows Aro memories of herself feeling such unquenchable thirst and she thinks _, Maybe he is like me and does not realize what the thirst means_ , bolstering the thought with countless memories of steak dinners at the Lodge when she was growing up, of an entire freezer full of venison and very little fish.

Aro considers this, carefully filing it away until he has met Charlie himself. Exchanging letters did not give him enough information and Charlie's letters to Volterra were few and far between. And what to do about Charlie? Undoubtedly, Charlie benefited from vampiric longevity, from an immunity to human diseases, a pronounced strength and senses that were heightened enough to give his police work an edge - all advantages that Bella did not have, except for a particularly strong immune system. But what else was there about Charles Swan? Did he suspect he was different? Aro had a burning desire to know; Bella could tell that he was about as irked by mysteries as Edward, another side effect of the entitlement of telepaths.

The territory they were in was so uncharted. There were no clear answers for all the many questions they all had.

Sulpicia was the only one who did not seem to care. As late December bleeds into the first days of January - as Charlie works continuous night shifts and remains unavailable, as Bella leaves the Cullen home each night and pretends that nothing has changed, as Aro and Sulpicia take residence in a guest house on the Cullen land - it is Sulpicia who expresses her untamed joy at the situation. She dotes upon Bella, eager to embrace her grandchild in a way she had never before been allowed.

 _Always a nanny, always someone else_ , Sulpicia thinks, stroking Bella's cheek. In her mind are vivid memories etched in jealousy as she watches first Arilpicia and then Fozino mothered by others, as she stands at a window in Seattle and watches a very young Charlie interact with foster parents long-past, as she creeps into Phoenix in the dead desert night to see Renee's blithering version of nurture. In the Cullen home, in the room that Esme had given the leader of the Volturi and his mate, Bella is coaxed to sit in front of a vanity and learn who her great-great-grandmother is while Sulpicia relishes in the opportunity to twist her hair into tiny braids weaved into classic Greek hairstyles. Her fingers graze Bella's skin as she works and Bella is gifted with memories of Sulpicia's travels, of her long life in the gilded castle of Volterra, of Bella's _actual_ Great Aunt Didyme and Great Uncle Marcus, and of the many interesting people, human and vampire alike, that Sulpicia has had the pleasure to meet. Sulpicia is less careful with her thoughts, though Bella understands that this is done with purpose; like Aro, she hides nothing. She doesn't even try.

Bella doesn't hide anything, either. As far as she could tell, there was no point.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

It is surreal to see Aro and Sulpicia sit in the living room of the Swan household on the afternoon after New Years Eve, especially when her mind is still fresh with images of the priceless pieces of history littered throughout the Volterra castle. She is never more glad that she had begun her renovation project on the house in August, shuddering at the mental picture of queen-like Sulpicia stood before the chipping sunshine-yellow paint Renee had bathed the kitchen in. It's unsettling, to say the least. And to be perfectly honest, Aro and Sulpicia don't exactly make any great effort to come off as human like the Cullen's do; there are no unnecessary breaths; they do no blink; they do not shift in their seats or fake twitches. They present as firmly, unmistakably _vampire_.

It is unnerving at first, but she quickly grows used to it. She's had the past six days to acquaint herself with their habits and their utter stillness does not seem so odd anymore. She appreciates the efforts that the Cullen's make, though, finally realizing that it is something that they had to work for; it was evidently the natural state of vampires to intimate statues.

She wonders how her father will react.

Today is the first day that Charlie has not been picking up the slack of the other deputies and as such, it was the first opportunity for him to learn the truth. All of the truths. She is only a bit nervous about his reaction; the Charlie she knows is the type of man to roll with the punches, whatever they may be. Bella comes by her practicality honestly.

The wait is somewhat claustrophobic, though. She'd spent the better part of the morning tidying the house and pre-preparing the belated holiday meal she would share with Charlie later in the night. Edward had been at her side, re-learning these human past times in the quiet house while Charlie caught up on sleep. Her mate had only left once her grandparents had arrived, offering privacy for the ordeal soon to follow as soon as her father was roused from slumber. As the evening hours neared, her anticipation grew; Charlie would wake up soon and she found herself doing busy work under the watchful gazes of Aro and Sulpicia, petering around in the kitchen while she waited for the coffee pot to finish percolating. The rich, familiar fragrance goes a long way to soothing the disquiet of her mind.

The touch of Edward's skin was more effective. She missed him with a twinge in her chest. He was hunting now, taking the opportunity to venture to the Olympic National Park in search for a rare mountain lion. He would be back in the night, sitting in her tree as she slept. But it was no soon enough.

It was somewhat astounding to realize that she wanted to be near him _constantly_. Was that healthy? Was she dependent on him? No. No, she was perfectly independent, she felt complete unto herself, but also like she was better for his hand within her own, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

She sighs. When would Charlie wake up?

Bella comes back into the living room with a piping hot mug of coffee. She feels as though she should offer something to her grandparents, but she already knows that they will decline; they are unapologetic human-drinkers but they are also old and do not feel the need to feed quite so often. They both drank their fill in Italy and have no urge to slake a thirst that does not exist at the moment.

She feels Aro's curious gaze as she sips on her beverage. "Did they not have coffee when you were human?"

His lips twitch. "The Greeks drank wine."

"Occasionally water," Sulpicia adds.

Bella tilts the rim of her cup toward them. "Would you like to try it?"

A smile alights Aro's face, a sort of unabashed curiosity shining in his eyes. He accepts her offer, brings the cup to her lips, and then hastily withdraws with his mouth screwed up in distaste. "Why, that is absolutely foul. Precious, how can you drink this vile concoction?"

Sulpicia's laughter chimes right along with Bella's, resonate enough that she doesn't hear Charlie come downstairs until he is standing at the lip of the living room with his brows drawn high. She hadn't noticed it before, but he and Aro share the same hairline.

"Kid, you want to introduce me to your friends?"

Bella frowns for just a second before she remembers that Aro and Sulpicia appear _very_ young at first glance - just twenty-five and twenty-three in human physical appearance respectively. Charlie wouldn't immediately identify either of them for who they truly are. Her hesitation leaves her wrong-footed, but she stands, tucking her hands into the long sleeves of her white cable-knit sweater. "Dad," she says, tilting her head to the side, attempting to gauge his reaction in real-time and without the benefit of her gift. "This is Aro and Sulpicia."

Her grandparents watch her father with rapt attention, hands clasped as they stand tall before the Christmas tree still shining in the living room. Sulpicia in particular looks fit to lunge across the room and drag Charlie into a maternal embrace; Aro might be the only thing holding her back, and even then only by a hair.

Charlie pauses. His brow furrows, but not in confusion. He's skeptical. "As in, Great Uncle Aro and Great Aunt Sulpicia?" He eyes them dubiously, obviously caught on their ages.

Bella nods.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over the dark stubble that has grown along his chin. "I need caffeine for this. You make coffee?"

Bella nods again, but she can immediately tell that Charlie's natural pragmatism has won out and he is at least willing to entertain this impossibility that has been delivered to him.

"Alright. Give me a moment and then you can try running all this by me again."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Charlie takes it all better than everyone could have predicted, Bella included.

She touches his hand many hours later - long after Aro and Sulpicia have departed for the day - and catches the tenor of his wry realization. Charlie was a very smart man; he'd noticed that he didn't age quite the same as any one else after his foster parents passed, which is why he'd transferred from Seattle to little-town Forks, thinking that it would be _easier_ in a place where people just didn't ask so many questions. In his youth, he'd had a habit of breaking things when his temper got the better of him, denting metal and chipping wood with a thoughtless tap; and in his work, he ran faster than the other beat cops, had better aim with his gun, better eyesight and hearing, too.

 _Hell, I even know where the fish are in that lake before I even cast the line_ , he realizes with a snort. _And I've never once not found a deer when I was out hunting. Nobody is that lucky. No wonder._

But there's something else in his mind - something in the shadows. A tiny thought. _Vampires are immortal_ quickly followed by _vampires mate for life_. He'd lost Renee already; she hadn't wanted him and his small-town life borne out of necessity.

Did he want to spend an eternity with the empty ache in his chest?

Bella pulls her hand away.

They both know the answer.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella shows her grandparents her bedroom, eagerly dragging Aro to the corner of her room that has been dedicated to her book collection in the aftermath of the untimely death of her bookcase. Following along, Sulpicia observes, "Goodness, this is exactly how you keep your collection, my love, strewn about in disorganized chaos. Bella, sweetling, did you know he has an entire chamber in the castle dedicated to a mess not unlike this one?"

Bella isn't surprised. As much as she adores libraries, she has never subscribed to any sorting system for her personal collection - it would drive her mad and take the excitement out of reading whatever book her hand falls upon when she is in the mood to read spontaneously, a feeling that Aro evidently shares. Yet another trait that she has come by honestly.

Aro, though, isn't paying attention. He has flared his nostrils, circling the room with a heavy cast to his brow, lingering at the window with mildly peeved downward turn to his lips, every inch of him radiating a faint aura of disapproval. "Your mate has been in your bedroom?"

Bella flushes, quickly explaining about the bookcase - about how it had only been the one time. It is odd to find herself in the awkward position of defending an innocent interaction. Then she remembers that she had been in a bathrobe and that Edward had visibly held himself back from allowing his eyes to wander to the exposed line of her throat and collarbone. She's almost certain that this is a memory that Aro had glazed over the first time they touched, as that was the way his gift operated, but now that it was in a real-world context, he had developed a clear feeling about the incident. And so had Bella; a retroactive feeling of extreme embarrassment that did not meld well with the rush of adolescent desire she had felt in those fleeting moments.

"Good," Aro decides imperiously.

"Pardon?" Bella says, drawn out of her belated fluster by the abrupt about-face of her grandfather.

Sulpicia's hand flutters over her mouth, hiding a wide smile.

"You are so young, precious," Aro reasons breezily, swiping his fingers over her window sill to - she's pretty sure - cover the trace of Edward's scent where it still lingered. "Your room should remain a private place for as long as possible."

Bella rolls her eyes at his diplomatic, thinly-veiled allusion to what she _should_ and _shouldn't_ do. It doesn't surprise her that Aro would have the audacity; he was very rarely defied in any way between the absoluteness of his Volturi rule and his unrivaled ability to cajole. "Oh, _please_. You act as if ages of consent aren't a social construct when we both know you've been around long enough to know better." Then she pauses, crossing her arms over her chest - because while she's ready to argue against the principle, she's not prepared to argue against the decree itself, mostly because she agrees. "But it's not as if you have to worry about my virtue, Grandfather. Mate or not, my honor will not be in jeopardy any time soon."

She pointedly ignores Aro's air of satisfaction that serves as response to this declaration, exchanging a weighted look with Sulpicia. It is a lesson that men - human or vampire, ancient or young - would never truly change.

Less so if they are used to getting what they want.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

In spite of the emotional toll of the visit - the highs and lows, and most especially the sobering realizations - Bella still cries on the day that Aro and Sulpicia return to Volterra. They have been away for only two weeks, but Aro is not comfortable leaving his throne empty for so long and Bella's time is being reclaimed by school.

 _You will miss me, will you not, precious?_ Aro asks as their hands clasp for the final time, his paper-soft skin and strong bones cradling her human-warm fingers firmly.

She has already said her good-byes to Sulpicia, a lingering hug full of murmured words and a parting gift that Bella was instructed to wear at all times. The golden diamond pendant, flat and carved in the shape of the Volturi seal, hangs on an impossibly-thin platinum chain, long enough that it tucks easily under her shirt collar, flush to her sternum. It is a more blatant claim of her close association with the Volturi than other gifts that Sulpicia has given her; apparently, the ruby earrings from her birthday had the same etching laid beneath the gemstone, obvious for vampire eyes if they are close enough to look. The pendant is meant to be protection. Bella understands now and vows, silent and with a push of her mind against her grandmother's, to wear it always.

 _Of course,_ she returns to Aro, the feeble strength of her hands trembling to squeeze back hard enough so that he might remember her better. She doesn't want him or Sulpicia to leave. They have been drawing out this farewell for too long, though, and she thinks it might actually be up to her to finalize it. She leans up, pressing a kiss to each of his cheeks with a quivering smile.

His returning kiss to her forehead lasts for a long, long moment. _I am sorry that this has been difficult_ , he says.

She pulls away, tucking her hands into her sleeves, bereft of the company of another mind that she had grown so close to so quickly. " _To understand everything is to forgive everything_ ," she quotes. "And Grandfather…there is nothing to forgive."

Aro's garnet eyes glimmer. "You are such a strong creature, my Isabella."

It is the last thing he says to her before her and Sulpicia dart away, lead by Mele and tailed by a shy, waifish vampire named Renata, who was Aro's personal guard had had indeed followed him everywhere over the course of his visit. Bella watches them blur out of her line of sight, standing in the Cullen's backyard in front of the slow-rushing river with a wistful shadow of her mind.

They will meet again - soon.

Edward comforts her within the tender embrace of his arms, her hot tears pitter-pattering onto the strong column of his neck while he strokes the length of her spine. And with her forehead pressed into his diamond-hard skin, she marinates in the beautiful, chaotic disaster of his mind, relieved to find that the last two weeks had calmed the leeriness he felt toward Aro.

His kiss on that night is a delicate thing, as if she is made of glass.

They both know that she is not.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The weekend is a sunny one, but bitterly cold at the height of the Northwest winter, frost crawling up the windows and clinging to the moss-riddled bark of evergreen trees. She spends the time while Edward is forced to remain near the secluded Cullen mansion catching up on the holiday homework that she had completely neglected in the wake of the eventful winter break. Excepting Physics, none of it is difficult to occupy her for long and soon she is rifling through the refrigerator for a snack, something to satisfy the urge to _chomp_.

The vampiric urge? No, she's looking for something salty, something rich in flavor. Maybe not something she has to bite at all. Maybe something she can drink?

 _Like blood._

Bella suppresses a groan, snatching her hand away from the styrofoam container of pigs blood sitting on the middle shelf, an ingredient she needed to make dinner and that she _would not_ just drink straight and cold, standing in the open coolness of the refrigerator. _How could I have not suspected, though? Honestly, there are literally tiny vats of blood sitting next to the milk._

A bit disturbed by her own ability to be so obtuse, she closes the door with a _snap_ and marches to the other side of the kitchen, biting viciously into an apple, wondering if her father gets these kinds of cravings, too. Probably. Only _he_ can drink and he's never shied away from a cold beer or two - for the express reason of quelling that pervasive thirst rolling on the back of her tongue, she realizes with a sigh. Not the best coping mechanism, but at least Charlie had _something_. He planned on living out his lifespan as mostly-human for however long that may be. He's spent the last thirty years denying himself the craving that had been woken in Bella not so long ago. She wonders, if she stopped cold-turkey, if she would be able to deny herself, as well. Was it like an addiction?

The problem with _that_ was the fact that she didn't want to deny herself. There was no point. She wasn't planning on staying human.

How could she?

The tentative knock on the backdoor as the sun begins to set is a welcome distraction. She answers it, raising her brows in surprise at the sight of Rosalie Hale on the back porch, skin shimmering in the same shades as the sunset, golden hair glinting like spun gold atop her head. Her angelic visage is somewhat compromised by the melancholic countenance.

"Come inside," Bella murmurs as she steps back, leaning on the door as she watches Rosalie flit into the kitchen and sit heavily on a kitchen chair. Then she waits as Rosalie gathers her thoughts, lip pulled between her teeth; Bella moves to sit across from her, hands folded on top of the table.

When Rosalie looks up, her honey-toned eyes are round, wet-looking, mournful. "I have to know," she whispers brokenly. Even her sadness is exquisite, the very picture of a sobbing angel. "Please, Bella - do you know how…? How do you exist?"

Bella's heart fractures on Rosalie's behalf. "Oh, Rose," she breathes. She knows Rosalie's story, an unconscious transfer of Edward's thoughts, and she wants more than anything to give her friend hope. But she can't. What Rose _really_ wants she will never have, just like Sulpicia. It will always be removed by a single degree. Motherhood was not a privilege that female vampires retained, not like male vampires still maintained fatherhood. It was not fair, but it was what it was.

There is no way to explain any of this verbally, though. To treat Rosalie kindly in her most vulnerable moment, Bella will have to be cruelly honest, and for that there is only one way to deliver _all_ the answers to this single question. Bella slides her hand forward, tangling her fingers with Rosalie's and - now well-practiced at it between exercising the skill with Edward and Aro - she pushes her thoughts forward.

Rosalie recoils at the cold, unforgiving truth. Her mind lingers over and over on the images that Bella had absorbed from Aro's memories - the sight, the echoing sound, of a human woman ripped open from the inside out just to deliver a child into the world, so much more violent than the human way. It sickens Rosalie on a fundamental level, but when Bella tries to speed past these memories of the process, Rosalie stops her with a squeeze to the fingers.

She will not hide from the truth - she has to know.

"Emmett could," Bella whispers as she pulls her hand away an immeasurable time later. The sun has fully set beyond the trees and the kitchen is dark except for the single light above the stove. Rosalie has covered her trembling mouth with her hand. "He could and you would have a child…You would even be able to raise it, not have it sent away like Sulpicia."

"But the humans," Rosalie moans, agonized as she pushes up from the table, pacing around the kitchen as she swallows repeatedly. "The women…How could they _do_ that?"

Bella shrugs helplessly. "They don't think of human life the same way you do, Rosalie."

She is stricken. "I had no idea the _cost_. A life for a life…"

Bella stands, twirling the ends of her hair between her fingers. "I have a hypothesis," she says quietly, drawing Rosalie's immediate attention. "I'm not an expert on how humans are changed, but I know it never occurred to Aro or Sulpicia to…bite the women, to change them, after the birth. It could be possible that you could save the life of the woman, too."

Rosalie shakes her head. "And then she would have her baby, the baby my mate fathered, and I would still not be a mother."

"I'm sorry," Bella murmurs.

"Don't be. You did exactly what I asked you to. Thank you, Bella," Rosalie whispers, hugging Bella tightly. "It is better to know for certain than to wonder. Maybe now I can finally banish the bitterness that has followed me into this life."

Bella hopes fervently that this is true.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Returning to school is certainly an experience. She feels as though she's coming out of a daze - like Alice climbing out of the rabbit hole, head still spinning from a dalliance with the Red Queen. Which, in a way, wasn't all that inaccurate, though of course Aro would fancy himself the Mad Hatter, hosting a tea party as he convinced Alice to meet her destiny.

Bella climbs out of Edward's Volvo, hurrying around the front bumper to tangle their fingers together, both of them sighing in relief at the renewed contact. She has been spoiled over the holidays, almost always within reach of him or her grandfather, and it is an added difficulty that she will need to readjust to the distance that school demanded. It will be a challenge; she doesn't think she's touched anyone this much in her entire life and because it is _Edward_ she finds that she does not want to be separated from his mind. His gift - something he had loathed for endless years until recently - was a remarkable thing of beauty, but it paled in comparison to the dynamics of his thoughts, his emotions.

They near the front of the school and sensing their unavoidable separation, she leans more heavily against his arm, wrapping her free hand around his wrist for added contact, her cheekbone to the rolling joint of his shoulder. Edward chuckles at her, amused by her antics, appreciative of how open she has become to him - _more open to him than anyone else_ , a thought that is particularly heavy with possession.

She arches her brow at him. _Honestly, Edward, he's my grandfather. It's ridiculous to be jealous. He's not planning on taking me away and locking me up in Volterra - yes, I did see that thought - and even if he wanted to, I wouldn't let him. I belong with you._

Vampires do not shiver. They have no need to, being so ambivalent to the weather as they are. But that does not stop the tingle that races over Edward's skin, seeping against her own with a faint electrical current.

Bella hides her face in the firm shape of his bicep, a hot flush on her cheeks.

Edward is _smug_.

"That's enough," she manages, clearing her throat.

"A natural response, love."

"Oh, sure," she says lightly, rolling her eyes as she tacks on the thought, _Are all vampires this possessive, or are you just a special case?_

 _There's a very distinct possibility that I get to keep you forever,_ he shoots back, tone dripping with satisfaction. _And you will think I am special no matter what I say, so -_

"Bella!"

They snap out of their bubble; at some point, they had stopped walking and had been leaning against each other, her head tilted upward and his downward, simply staring at each other as they spoke. Bella hadn't even realized it and she knew that Edward didn't, either. They were so _relaxed_ now, knowing that there was an explanation for their inexplicable connection, that there wasn't an expiration date on their relationship, that _forever_ wasn't just a word - not for them. But, Bella realizes with chagrin, they should at least try to do better, act more like a typical high school couple, in public. Just because they had no secrets between each other didn't mean that they - and the rest of the Cullen family - didn't have secrets from the rest of the world.

She straightens and with some effort manages to pull away from Edward - except for the linking of their pinky fingers, of course. It dims their connection slightly, which was a discovery Bella had made over the break. A nuance with her gift that she hadn't noticed. The more of her skin touching someone else's, the deeper and more complete the mental bridge; she'd never noticed before because she had never given herself the opportunity to experiment, always doing her best to manage the privacy of everyone around her at the expense of her own ability to feel touch. Until Edward, she hadn't realized how much she had starved herself of touch.

Jessica is too excited to notice - or perhaps even care - that she had interrupted something, but Angela does notice and she smiles in slight apology. Most of the freshmen Bella met at orientation are herding in their direction, most of them obviously glad to be back at school after a solid three weeks away, probably eager to be away from their families after prolonged contact.

Bella doesn't share the sentiment.

Jessica Stanley doesn't need more than faint acknowledgement to launch into her happy, silence-filling chatter, occasionally including someone else - usually Mike - so that she has the opportunity to breathe. Bella responds when the need arises - _yes, break was good, yes, I received good presents, no, I can't believe it hasn't snowed again either -_ but for the most part, she and Edward both stand silent among the noise, each of them waiting for the first bell to ring and herald students away to homeroom.

That is, until Mike Newton casually mentions that he's planning a trip down to First Beach as soon as a sunny day comes, which he's certain will be soon. And Mike would know, given that his parents run that outdoors supply store and that there was definitely a sale pattern that he had learned to recognize. "Any day now," Mike is saying with a nod to the sky. "Sunshine, I'm telling you."

Edward could care less about the impending weather. His mind is focused on the location of the outing - First Beach, where he and the rest of the Cullens are decidedly _not_ allowed without jeopardizing the treating with the Quileute wolf pack, which Bella knew all about.

 _I won't go_ , she sends across the narrow link.

She senses a negative emotion from him and turns her head sharply, studying the calculating glint in his topaz eyes. He _wants_ her to go, to meet with the wolves.

Bella immediately shifts their hands, pressing their palms fully together. _Explain_ , she demands.

Bella is aware of the risk, especially the risk to herself now that she knows she's part vampire. She doesn't know how Charlie is going to handle the situation, if he would be able to find a different fishing spot or what - because _no_ vampires were allowed in La Push and Charlie had been unknowingly violating that for years. Bella thinks back to Jacob asking about Charlie's aftershave; she had put it up to Sam Uley's little gang being prejudiced to outsiders, but knowing what she knows now, she realizes that the wolves had been smelling vampire on Charlie. How much? Maybe that he'd been _around_ vampires, something that could be explained? Certainly their noses were sensitive enough to scent the vampire _in_ Charlie - she highly doubted her father would still be making weekly trips to visit Billy if that were the case. But now Edward seemed to think it was a good idea for her to go onto La Push land, _knowingly_ violating an anti-vampire policy?

 _It's a good opportunity to make things easier for Charlie and to show good faith on Carlisle's behalf_ , he explains, along with a jumble of thought that she has to detangle to suss out all the meanings within.

 _Oh_ , she realizes after a moment, feeling a little dumb for not thinking of this herself - the true motivation behind his reasoning.

Edward is thinking about the future.

Bella tunes back into the ongoing conversation and waits for a break in speech before interjecting, "A trip to the beach sounds great!"

Edward gently squeezes her hand, a thank you as much as approval for what he considers a brave act.

Bella simply considers it necessary.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The next week is clotted with icy rain that freezes overnight and endless dark clouds as if to protest Mike Newton's plans to use his brand-new driver's license to drag all of his friends out to First Beach. Bella doesn't mind. She has the time to gather her thoughts, develop a plan, speak with Carlisle to gain approval for essentially being a temporary messenger between the La Push wolves and the Cullen coven.

She slips back into the rhythm of her schedule and works through some of the withdrawal she feels during the school hours; the Cullens are good about this, allowing her to covertly snag a touch during class when her mind begins to wither by itself. Rosalie in particular helps her wean off of relying so much on mental connections while Jasper does his best to alter the anxiety that springs up randomly.

On Friday, Bella opens the door to a smiling Esme Cullen and a glossy pine bookshelf, which is a welcome replacement for the one that had broken. Esme carries it into Bella's room, then helps her slot her book collection onto the sturdy, steel-reinforced shelves. And then, right before she leaves, Esme pulls her into a hug and says, "I would never dream of replacing your mother or stepping into Sulpicia's rightful territory as your grandmother, but if you ever need anything - anything at all, dear - please remember that my door is always open to you. Don't hesitate to use it."

"I won't," Bella murmurs, inhaling the faint floral notes of Esme's scent. "Thank you."

"You're family."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

At night, Bella will stare up at her ceiling with a restless mind. Just because she has accepted everything does not mean that she has processed it all.

 _Bella is going to live forever_. She will leave the remnants of her mostly-human life behind with the exception of Charlie - she will let Renee think that she is dead, because that is a mercy rather than a reflection of her mother's parenting skills - and she will depart to some unknown place. Alaska, probably. The Cullen's have friends there.

But not yet - she thinks it would be nice to be the same age as Edward.

Who wouldn't want to be seventeen forever?

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The sunny spell eventually comes during the last week of January - a persistent arc of four wintry sunshine days, all light and no warmth - and Bella approaches the weekend with a healthy caution and a sense of responsibility. Charlie hadn't had any problems yet, but that could be because he was protected by his friendship with Billy Black.

Bella wasn't naïve enough to think that protection would extend to her - not when it had probably gotten back to La Push about her close relationship with the Cullen family. She has thought long and hard about how to best represent herself and eventually decides that attempting to scrub Edward's lingering scent off her person - from their hand-holding and chaste kisses - would be the best option. An experiment, just to see how keen those werewolf noses really were.

After a scalding shower, she tugs on jeans that she hadn't worn since October, a simple white t-shirt, and a nubby orchid cardigan that she hadn't worn around any vampires. Charlie does the cursory safety speech and drives her down to Newton's Outfitters, where she carpools in a minivan that smells distinctly of candle wax, a hobby of Mike's mother. She has seen the view driving toward La Push more times than she can count and, instead of joining the conversation, she turns her mind inward, readying herself for the conversation she'd been planning for the better part of a month. She hadn't even brought a book. Bella and Edward had decided that if the conversation went poorly, then Bella was to get herself off of First Beach as soon as possible; he would be waiting with Emmett and Alice on the other side of the treaty line, just in case.

She just hopes that their preparations aren't actually necessary.

Bella spends most of the day lingering on the edges of the group, helping to gather driftwood and sipping on a bottle of water, shredding the label nervously as time goes on. So she's more than a little relieved to spot the familiar shining smile of Jacob Black as he and two boys near his age lumber toward the gathering. He tackles her in a hug, then fills her ear with all sorts of information - his progress on the truck, what Billy said about some sports team, how Rachel and Rebecca are doing out in Seattle. He's grown a little bit since she last saw him and his voice has begun to crack, much to the mockery of his friends - Embry and Quil. She's grateful for the distraction of his presence, which is almost as good as a book.

But then, as he doubles back to talk about some part of the truck's engine that's giving him a hard time, Bella's phone rings. Her heart leaps - she shouldn't be getting any calls unless something was wrong - and she stands, smiling apologetically even as she brings the phone to her ear as soon as possible.

It's Alice. ", _Oh_ _Bella!_ " she cries over the rabid growling in the background, which stops abruptly. " _Are you okay?_ "

Bella's brows furrow. "What? No, Alice, I'm fine. Why would you think otherwise?"

" _You disappeared,_ " Alice explains rapidly. _"Your entire future was just gone and Edward started to lose it. He was going to cross the treaty line - it's a good thing Emmett was here - but he's stopped now. He's listening to your breathing. It would be sweet if he hadn't just been psychotic…"_

Bella blinks. "How could my future just vanish?"

 _"I don't know_!" Alice frets. " _But maybe you should just call this whole thing off. I've felt strange about it since the very start and -_ "

Bella had turned around, intent on following Alice's advice - honestly agreeing that it maybe wasn't the best plan, because why cure the bliss from the ignorant - but she stumbles to a stop, feet skidding on pebbly sand. Sam Uley is looming only a foot away, over-large and hard-faced, bracketed by two older boys - at least nineteen, but it's difficult to tell - who look only a little smaller.

"Alice, I have to go," Bella says, ignoring the protests as she ends the call, never breaking eye contact with the alpha wolf. She straightens her spin and tilts her jaw upward, waiting.

Sam crosses his arms. "Cullen's are not allowed on this land."

"I am not a Cullen," Bella replies honestly. _Yet._

His nose flares. "Then you are a leech and also not allowed here."

"Actually, I'm Bella Swan, Charlie's daughter," Bella says bluntly. "And I'm here to talk to you."

Sam is thrown, but only for a bit. He and the other werewolves edge her further away from the rest of the beach, and then he begins demanding answers in a hard tone of voice that instantly stokes the defiant streak she doesn't usually tap into.

"I'm _trying_ to explain," she hisses angrily, throwing her hands in the air. "If you would just let me get a word in edge-wise!"

Sam may be furious, but he has exceptional control over his wolf. One of the boys behind him, Paul, is visibly shaking though and Bella shuffles back, padding the space that separates them as Sam tracks her movements. She's spent that last five minutes trying to explain the situation, but it's going very poorly. Sam and the wolves have a pathological hatred of vampires, and trying to explain that they'd been letting a part-vampire onto their land didn't sit well. She wracks her brain, trying to think of all the talking points Edward had helped her with, and comes up blank.

Talking isn't working.

She exhales heavily, holding her hand out with her palm facing upward - a gesture she picked up from Aro. It was non-threatening, an invitation, an olive-branch, even to those who did not understand what would happen when they touched. She liked the gesture. It felt open, honest.

Sam eyes her hand, then barks, " _What_ do you want me to do with that?"

"Take my hand," she tells him. "It will be easier to explain this way."

"Don't do it, Sam," advises Jared, hand hard on Paul's shoulder in a vain attempt to keep his brother-wolf calm. "You don't know what the baby leech is going to do."

Bella rolls her eyes, but doesn't drop her hand in defeat. She's patient. She'll wait, no matter how long it takes, no matter if her cell phone is vibrating with texts in her pockets. She's already had to brusquely answer it once, hanging up again on Alice's worry after answering in the affirmative that she was _fine_.

Sam reaches forward, frowning when he finds her hand warm.

She's frowning, too. His mind is hot like coals, a deeply unpleasant place for her to be - but she pushes forward, silently explaining her gift when he flinches, and then showing him memories of Charlie, of Charlie not knowing, of Charlie finding out, of Charlie tacitly deciding to stay human, and then of herself and her plans. And then she hesitates, unsure of how it would come off -

 _Who is that_? Sam asks as she shows him an image of Caius from Aro's mind.

She tells him - leaving nothing hidden - of who Caius is, how she is related to him, and how he hates shapeshifters with such a passion that the Quileute wolves might be the only ones left in the world for all she or anyone else knows.

 _It's not a threat_ , she rushes to assure him. _But Carlisle wanted to make sure you knew, just in case Ephraim Black didn't leave records about this._

 _You didn't have to tell me_ , Sam points out.

 _I know_ , she returns, pulling her hand away. "But we all felt that if this was to work, then we should lay all cards on the table. I can promise that I and the Cullen's won't come to La Push, but I want assurances that Charlie won't ever be banned. He plans on staying exactly as human as he is now for the rest of his natural life, however long that may be."

Sam is thoughtful, stepping back and weighing all his options with a visible weight on his shoulders. Then he nods. "Charlie Swan will not be punished for his bloodline," he declares, leveling dark brown eyes at her with a frown. "But you are different, a special case. You are planning on being turned by a Cullen, which would be a breach of the treaty. And yet, you are already part vampire and you have an imprint, a mate…I will speak to the Tribal Elders and send a messenger directly to you once they have decided."

Bella's breath releases in a whoosh. This was the best they could hope for. She nods, licking her dry lips. "Great. Then I'll just…be on my way."

She leaves the werewolves behind as she navigates off the beach and onto the main road leading out of La Push, walking along for several breathless minutes until a blur of milk and copper pennies slips in front of her, pulling her into an embrace that vibrates with deeply-suppressed rumbling growls. Bella turns her head, pressing her lips against Edward's collarbone.

 _It's okay, everything worked out more or less how we thought it would. I'm fine._

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is January.

* * *

 **A/N: I had an oddly difficult time locating any kind of quote that outright mentions January - and honey, I** _ **looked**_ **for one that I liked that and that was even remotely applicable to the storyline. But, I had to settle for a pretty obvious allusion to January and we're all just going to have to live with it (** _ **she tells herself**_ _**over and over and over again, trying not to absolutely not loose her mind over the concept inconsistency**_ **).**

 **And for those of us who enjoy muffins, a little bit of nitpicking keeps us on our toes ;) (Also, as to how I'm tracking canon, it could only very, very loosely be described as chronological - after the James arc, you'll see what I mean - which is why certain characters had to show up, else they might not have made the cut for the timing of all the other developments that have inevitably spun off the butterfly effect I have here) lol**

 **Thanks for all the reviews, favorites, follows, and recommendations!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	8. seven: february

**seven**

 **february**

* * *

 **"Why, what's the matter,**

 **That you have such a February face,**

 **So full of frost, of storm and cloudiness?"**

 **\- William Shakespeare, _Much Ado About Nothing_**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Son, I think it's about time you and I had a conversation," Charlie says from the hallway, peering into the kitchen with his police uniform still on, holster hanging from his loose grip.

Bella and Edward spring apart, though they hadn't been doing anything untoward. She had been tracing the lines on his open palm with the tip of her finger, an idle action that took the place of homework. Edward had taken to bringing schoolwork inside so that he would have at least a plausible excuse to stay near her during the afterschool hours that were, for Bella, decidedly human. The gesture was somewhat ruined by his habit of speeding through his coursework, pen scratching on paper in a high-speed blur that irked her more often than not. Inevitably, calls him _show off,_ becomes distracted by his _Edward-ness_ , and finishes her homework after dinner while he is still away from his outdoor perch in her tree. Just _knowing_ he's there is a distraction.

Bella used to have such discipline over her mind, but Edward Cullen has _completely_ ruined it. She tries very, very hard to care - but her grades have yet to slip, so it hardly seems like a problem. Edward at least has the grace to be sheepish when she chides him for his distraction, a bashful downward tilt of his head, lips pressed together trying to smother a grin.

At the moment, Edward stands at Charlie's attention, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Of course, Chief," he agrees readily, tossing a wink in Bella's direction as both he and Charlie disappear to the front porch.

She looks back to her Trigonometry homework with a sigh, worrying her bottom lip for a respectable few seconds before quietly slipping from her seat and edging to the front door. She's under no illusions that her movements aren't known by Edward - and Charlie probably hears the creaking floorboards, too - but that doesn't stop her from blatantly eavesdropping on their conversation. She would have found out about it directly from the source, anyway.

Bella tilts her head, then bites her lips together. Charlie is giving a particularly gruff shovel-talk, one that sounds remarkably similar to one Aro gave Edward not too long ago - a memory that Edward has mostly been able to keep hidden from her for the apparent sake of his own pride.

"If you hurt her, I will personally take a torch to that indestructible skin of yours and make you wish that you'd died human," Charlie threatens darkly. "My little girl might be special, but she's still mine and I'll be protecting her for as long as I can. And I think you know you've got more than me to be worried about when it comes to that girl, because I'd bet dollars to donuts that Aro would have you strung up sooner than she could shed a tear."

 _That_ was true, she knew. Aro had made no compunctions about his desire to protect her heart as much as her life; just because she and Edward had an unfulfilled mate-bond didn't mean that Edward would ever be in the clear. She thinks him rather brave for weathering these threats to his continued eternal life _just_ for Bella. But she would do the same, wouldn't she? Only, Bella would never have to because there was a distinct double standard - nobody would ever think to inspire fear in her so that she would be motivated to treat Edward's heart kindly. That was something she would have to hold herself accountable for, a burden that she did not mind.

"…was hoping that you understood my intentions to be fairly permanent, Chief," Edward says when she tunes back into the conversation.

"Yeah," Charlie grunts. "Mates, that's what you call it. A forever sort of thing, I'm told."

Edward clears his throat. "Ah, well, yes. That is certainly part of it. But I have my eye on a rather human tradition, if you catch my meaning."

"Boy, have you hit your head?"

"No, sir."

Charlie snorts incredulously. "For God's sake, do I really need to remind you that she's _fifteen_ still? Another half-year and I won't be able to do much to stop you, but if you've got a plan in mind, I'm telling you _no_ right now. She isn't ready. Hell, she might never be ready. Can you deal with that?"

"I assure you, Chief, when I do ask you for Bella's hand, it will be with the fullest confidence that she will answer the way I hope she will," Edward proclaims. "Until then, believe that I am as committed to Bella's happiness as you are."

"You're not a father," Charlie mutters solemnly. "Her happiness means something different to me than it does to you and you might never understand that."

"I might not," Edward agrees quietly.

Silence. And then, the clapping sound of a hand falling onto a shoulder. "You are a good kid. Couldn't have hoped for better, really, but it's my prerogative to give you a hard time when the mood strikes. You get that, Edmund?"

Her mate laughs. "Yes, sir."

"Good. Then Bella can stop pressing her ear to the door and walk you to your car."

Bella pushes the door open, refusing to be embarrassed by being caught. She arches a brow at her father. "You know his name is Edward."

"Edwin?" Charlie asks with a mirthful glint to his eye, snapping his fingers. "No, I know. _Edgar_."

"Dad!"

"Bella, it's his name," Charlie says over the blithe sound of Edward's amusement, his mustache twitching as he shoulders into the house, calling over his shoulder, "Goodnight, Edison!"

"Oh, my God." Bella reaches for Edward and he meets her hand, his mind swirling with satisfaction and good nature as she tips forward to send him off with a kiss to the corner of his mouth, long enough to be just shy of indecent. "Why do you invite trouble?"

"It makes him feel better," he answers honestly. "I don't mind, love."

She waits until the Volvo disappears around the corner before treading inside, piling her homework onto corner of the kitchen table, and taking our all of the ingredients she needs for tiet canh. Charlie and Edward had just opened the door to a conversation she'd been hoping to put off at least until she graduated - but it was clear that Charlie had seen the writing on the wall. Even though she hadn't come out and said it, her father knew about her plans for the future. In some ways, that made it easier; but in other ways, it made everything bittersweet because now they both knew that these next few months were going to be the last human moments they would spend together.

"So," she begins as they sit down to eat, scraping her spoon over the bottom of the plate. "What was that all about?"

Charlie raises his brows. "I think you heard more than enough to take a good guess, Bells."

"Not the first part."

He wipes at his mouth, fiddling with his napkin. "Alright," he sighs. "That boy wants to marry you."

"I know."

Edward really didn't even attempt to hide that from her, though he was beginning to devise methods of blocking parts of his mind so that he could keep _some_ secrets - if he would just ask for help, she could probably help him construct some kind of mental wall. But her mate is stubborn. She hasn't let it slip that she knows she's going to be the recipient of some sort of bracelet in two weeks; she doesn't know exactly what it's going to look like, so she supposes his occluding was improving without her input.

"I just thought I might remind him that it's not a done deal, yet," Charlie says. "And that you're still young. He ought to respect that."

"He does," Bella assures him. "Really, he does. You know, though, in his era it wasn't all that odd for a seventeen year old to court a fifteen year old with intentions to marry. Victorians weren't _casual_ , Dad, and neither is Edward. He knows that I want to wait, though."

"It's hard to see how serious this is, this...relationship of yours," Charlie utters lowly. "Sometimes I look at you and all I see is this curious little girl with braids in her hair trying to poke around the case files on my desk…and other times, it's like you're already a fully grown woman that doesn't need her Daddy anymore. And then I see this boy who moons over you and I can't decide if I should be happy he's so devoted or beat him silly for entertaining any kind of thoughts about my baby."

Bella stands, leaning over the corner of the table to hug her father hard. "I'll always need you, Dad, no matter how old I look."

Charlie pats her back, sighing deeply. "I know, kid. I know."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

With February comes a long stretch of drizzling days and tepid clouds overhead, a sense of lingering winter laziness in the air; it is not uncommon for Bella to shuffle beneath her bed covers, happily ensconced in warmth and utterly unwilling to touch her feet to the cold hardwood floor each morning. Even though Groundhog's Day comes and goes with nary a shadow in sight, it doesn't seem as though Forks, Washington has received the memo. Cold sheets of rain, frozen ground, and icicles dangling from rails shows that winter is still in full-swing, at least for the moment.

Honestly, she could take or leave the weather - but her apathy toward winter abates in the evidence of how much Edward enjoys the season. She has forgotten that he is a Chicago boy, that he has long-since been indoctrinated in the ways of snow and wind. When he is caught in a snowball fight with Emmett and Jasper, a flurry of strategic motion that she had never seen before and that she doubts any human would possibly be able to entertain, Edward's jubilant laughter warms her down to her very toes. He is incandescent in happiness, in the exultant victory he has claimed over his brothers, snow refusing to melt in copper-bright hair.

After seeing that, it is much easier to regard the season as something to look forward to, something to anticipate - even when an entire lunch period is eaten up by Emmett's grumpy complains that Jasper and Edward cheated. The two gifted vampires were at some sort of stalemate that Bella didn't want to even touch on, happily burying her head in the sand, or rather her nose in a book, as her mate radiates joy.

They should have known that peace would not last.

Their lives were too _supernormal_ for anything to be predictable.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dearest Granddaughter Isabella,_

 _My return to Volterra has been peaceful. I know you were concerned that there would be issues that I had not foreseen, and so I wish for you to understand that there is nothing to worry about - my throne is still my own and you are safe. The brothers are curious, but they have agreed to be patient until you are able to visit the castle yourself._

 _I have sent along a book I hope you will enjoy, as you seem inclined toward pacifism and as your parting words to me were indeed quoted from this unparalleled feature in human history. It is wise of you to model your worldview from a mind such as this, but I urge you to rethink some of your hesitance to annihilating threats where they stand. It would serve you well to balance both of these inclinations; whoever said that peace and violence do not go hand-in-hand was quite a stupid man, I believe. More often than not, even history has shown us that the only way to understand peace is to undergo a time of violence. Peace and violence are married as firmly as life and death._

 _Forgive an old man for preaching, precious. Your mind is your own. I simply wish that you think carefully about how you will learn to handle threats, as they will inevitably come up during your long life._

 _As a final note, you will notice that Mele has not yet returned from Volterra. I am still in need of her services to subdue some of the more headstrong members of my guard, but I shall not bore you with the details. Please see to your safety while you are being protected by only the Cullen coven. Carlisle knows that I have charged him personally with your continued health._

 _My eternal heart,_

 _Aro_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella adds her newest book, _What The Buddha Taught_ , to her new pine shelf with a wry smile. She quotes _one_ thing and Aro runs away with it.

Although, she thinks it's rather telling that he recognized her words of forgiveness.

Maybe Aro is more of a pacifist than even he believes - or maybe she's projecting.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

It is with no small amount of astonishment that Bella spends the Friday night before Valentine's day in Alice Cullen's distinctly spa-like bathroom. Alice, along with Esme and Rosalie, had somehow managed to pry her away from Edward after school and haul her over to the Cullen house before it had really sunk in that Bella was now involved in a ritual of sorts.

Pampering hadn't ever been something on Bella's radar, much to Renee's disappointment. If it couldn't be incorporated into a morning and bedtime routine, then Bella didn't have time for it. Through Sulpicia's annual gifts of luxurious soaps, Bella had never been bereft of products, had never _really_ had to think beyond wash, scrub, and moisturize. Simple things that meant she could get back to her books more quickly. In her entire life, Bella had painted her nails once - for Renee's wedding - and aside from keeping her hair trimmed, she didn't spend time in salons on any sort of regular basis.

Alice seems to have taken this disinterest in overly girly habits as some sort of challenge. The pixie-haired vampire actually scoffs when Bella tries to explain that she didn't understand the importance of primping or the logic behind make-up. Alice's answer is to take away Bella's copy of _Bel Canto_ and replace it with back-issues of _Cosmopolitan, Elle,_ and _Nylon_ magazines. At first, Bella is dubious, flipping through ultra-glossy pages with a faint sneer - but then, she begins learning. The magazines did have articles ranging through all sorts of topics - politics came up just as often as pop culture, and for every page dedicated to sex was a page dedicated to the psychology of relationships. A lot of it is about female empowerment. Some of it is about the science behind the products churned out by the beauty industry. And much of it is incredibly insightful.

It isn't long before Bella is asking for other issues, which Alice retrieves eagerly after slathering Bella's face in a kaolin clay mask that smells strongly of chamomile tea. "You've successfully converted me," Bella decides, searching for another section in _Cosmo_ ; it's low-brow, but she likes the worst-date anecdotes and shares the funniest ones with the vampires just to see their reactions.

"I knew I would," Alice declares succinctly, sharing a grin with Esme who has been combing a conditioning mask into Bella's hair for the better part of twenty minutes.

"We learn not to bet against Alice," Rosalie says from where she has folded herself atop of the marble sink, rubbing a cotton ball of straight acetone over her nails. Like Bella, she also has a mask on her face, though obviously the chemicals aren't doing what they were designed to do. Vampire skin is perfectly toned and smooth; the act of putting on a pore-minimizing mask is just a motion. A ritual. Something to remind the vampires that humans were _human_ and needed these things even if they did not.

Bella sits through the next several hours of sugar scrubs and pale pink nail polish with a small smile. This is _nice_. She regrets never making the time to do this with Renee, but she can hardly imagine that her mother would have let Bella have the time to make her own decisions about even something as simple as nail color - she would have pushed Bella into bright, bold colors or severe changes in her hair style or other kinds of experiments that Bella simply wasn't comfortable with. Instead of Alice's careful, easy selections of sweet-scented moisturizers, organic mascara, and shaded lip balm that are sent home with Bella, Renee would have advocated for sparkling eye shadows and red lips and shimmering blushes that Bella didn't even need. And Bella doesn't want to compare them, exactly, but she knows her mother and she knows that Renee never would have been satisfied with Bella's safe choices.

When she's at home and placing new products in the basket beside Sulpicia's toiletries, she wonders what her mother would think about this one incredibly _unsafe_ choice Bella had made for her life - to become a vampire. She would probably be ecstatic and that was why Renee could never know. She would let the secret slip, and that was only the best case scenario.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella has never had cause to celebrate Valentine's Day and neither has Edward. It is for this reason that she loiters in the bathroom the next morning, fussing with the pleated floral dress in muted romantic shades and the charcoal tights she has paired with boots and a long, dull magenta cardigan. Her hair is glossy, hanging to the dip of her back in relaxed curls, her eyes widened by the application of mascara, her lips berry-juice red from balm. Her pendant presses against her skin beneath her clothes, warmed from her body and light enough that she often forgets that it s there.

She refuses to admit that she's nervous. This isn't her first date with Edward - and to her knowledge, they aren't doing anything that they haven't done before. He plans to take her to a bookstore in Seattle that she enjoys and then to a concert at an 18-and-under club in the evening that is featuring an up-and-coming band he has his eye on. She would hopefully be able to talk him out of playing human and eating with her, something that she was only occasionally successful at accomplishing. They would hold hands. It was just an ordinary date on a day that was mostly just a greeting-card holiday.

Maybe it's the conversation she'd had with Charlie earlier in the month, but she feels that the day has a certain weight to it. She'd done a _spa_ day to prepare for it and everything.

Huffing at the ridiculousness of her own circular thoughts, Bella goes back into her bedroom, snatching up the supple leather over-shoulder purse the _perfect_ size for books that Edward had gifted her for Christmas. She'd made a point of not asking how much it cost; honestly, just by the detailed stitching and the thickness of the leather, she could make a pretty accurate guess. The important part was that Edward had bought her something practical, something she needed as her old bag was steadily coming to tatters. Her own gift to him had been a rare vinyl of _Patti Smith_ , a nod to his vivid memories of joining the punk circuit at CBGB's and the way he resonated with the rebellion of the music, the way it healed something long-broken in his soul.

She selects two books - _The Complete Poems of Anne Sexton_ and _Emma_ \- packs them into the bag, along with her cell phone and new lip balm, and then dismisses herself from her room. It doesn't matter that she's ready for the date earlier than expected because Alice has already sent Edward over. He arrives just as she finishes chewing on cold black pudding and jelly-smeared toast, knocking on the door politely even though they both know he doesn't really _need_ to. She's content to let him retain the bits of whimsy that he keeps with his human actions; Edward seems to find comfort in human actions and she does not take for granted that he is able to indulge so often.

Edward has flowers, a bundle of lilacs and lilies with a lovely fragrance and tied with a white ribbon. She presses her face into the blooms as he holds the passenger door open for her, smiling demurely at his gentlemanly behavior in such high contrast with his vampire speed. She decides - right there before they even get on the road - that she is fiercely glad the sun is safely hidden behind the clouds for the day.

They hold hands over the center console as Edward pushes the Volvo's engine to its limit, Edward's thumb occasionally drifting over her pulse-point. He seems to have finally succeeded in erecting a private wall in his mind, something opaque and small and very obviously meant to be temporary. She doesn't bother wedeling his surprise away; instead, she cracks open the book of poetry and reads aloud, pausing between each poem so that they can discuss meaning and imagery and stare at each other even though he should be looking at the road.

At the bookstore, after Edward has procured a towering cup of caramel-shot coffee and a white-chocolate chip cookie, he trails behind her as she scours the shelves, more than happy to hold the ever-growing stack of books she would like to add to her collection. It's Edward who finds _The Kreutzer Sonata,_ a book of Tolstoy's that she has been looking for. She rewards him with a press of her lips against his, narrowly avoiding dropping her paper coffee cup on the floor when he tilts his head, his cool hand cradling the back of her head as he deepens the kiss for a long, breathless moment.

Edward chuckles lowly when he pulls away, the skitter of his thoughts across her mind emblazoned with male pride at the swell of her lips and the fresh blush staining her cheeks.

"Unfair," she breathes, trailing her finger over the sharp edge of his jaw. "Now I can't remember what I was doing before."

"Searching for books," he tells her, kissing her temple, then turning so that his lips brush over the top of her ear. "But I won't argue if you'd like to continue this instead."

"Edward Cullen, you better behave," she whispers over the heavy throb of her heart and the new, unfamiliar warmth gathering behind her navel.

He grins boyishly. " _As you wish, Buttercup_ , _"_ he quotes, pulling back and tugging a book off the shelf without bothering to glance at the title. She is still bemused that one of his favorite movies is as nonsensical as _The Princess Bride_ , but she can't deny that she enjoys it, too; their last date consisted of that movie and impossibly long minutes on the front porch until Charlie began to flick the lights on and off.

"Lead the way, Westley."

It is her turn to follow him. They shop for books so differently. Edward has a tendency to select at random, sometimes by the color of the cover or the width of the spine or even the first letter of the author's name; Bella, on the other hand, takes the time to read the synopsis, sometimes flipping to read entire pages while Edward weaves between book aisles. Regardless of the method, this is something they share, this joy of reading. Edward, after all, had little else to fill a hundred years of lonely nights, and for Bella, the written word would always be a most welcome escape.

They leave the store with a dozen new books between them, but Bella knows they'll all end up on her shelf, eventually. Things they own are migrating between their bedrooms at the moment, even though she hasn't been in his and he's only been in hers once. There are more of Edward's sweaters and jackets in her closet than she cares to count. She wonders if he knows that she sometimes sleeps with them. Probably.

The _Highly Suspect_ concert is a lively thing, full of thrumming, heaving guitar riffs and lyrics that pluck at her imagination. She doesn't know how Edward withstands the sheer volume with his enhanced hearing, or how he can stand to be so firmly rooted in the middle of so many excited human minds. Even before the mid-point of the first set, Bella has pressed her back to Edward's chest, pulling his arms around her to buffer from the bump of jumping bodies, her hands covered and tucked beneath her arms; between Edward and cotton, she is buffered from the sudden rush of other minds or the jostling of her balance.

It is her first concert and even though she couldn't have predicted the complication, she wants to do it again - go to another one and another one and another until she isn't bothered by her gift, until she can stand next to Edward instead of needing the safe-cage of his arms.

Not that there is anything wrong with his protective embrace.

Actually, she thinks they _both_ enjoy standing like that, his chin pressed against the top of her head. Secure.

Their day isn't over after the concert, though. Edward ushers her to the Volvo and heads off toward Forks, but he doesn't take her home. He takes her to the meadow where he showed her what sunlight did to vampires. They lay back on a fluffy down quilt, hands laced together, looking up at the sky as clouds slowly clear to show the twinkling lights of the stars. Bella is amazed by the clarity. In Phoenix, the light pollution was too great to really see the night sky, and Forks was so shrouded in clouds _all_ the time that she can count on one hand how often she'd seen the entire moon since the New Year. But this - it was unrivaled by anything.

Edward knows all of the constellations, of course, and she listens to his velvety voice, following the line he sketches with his finger - there is Orion and Virgo and Venus and many more. He knows so much, far more than he could have learned in any book. She turns her head, intent on asking if he had gone to school for astronomy at any point, but he is already look at her with these unfathomable ocher eyes and her words die on her tongue.

"Edward?" she questions, barely more than a breath so that she doesn't disturb the silence, so that she doesn't ruin anything.

"I want to give you something," he murmurs, reaching up with his free hand to trace the curve of her cheek. She turns her hand into his palm, contented by his touch. "After he turned me, while I was in the burning fever, Carlisle went back to the house of my parents and collected some things he thought I might want. I remember being so angry with him, livid at his audacity, at the intrusion into _my_ life…But when I came back from my rebellion, I was so grateful that he had the foresight. I cannot tell you how much of a comfort it was to have the pipe my father smoked, the jewelry my mother wore…"

Bella sits up when Edward leans onto his elbow. Their hands are still clasped, that little shroud over one part of his chaotic mind fluttering as he moves - and she knows that this was the secret, the surprise that he'd been keeping. He withdraws a dainty bracelet from his pocket and the moonlight catches on the frangible diamond heart linked to the chain.

Her lungs feel tight as he fastens it around her wrist, tracing the jut of her wrist bone with a winsome smile. "My frozen heart," he explicates, looking at her from beneath his eyelashes.

Bella presses forward, her hand meeting the soft fabric on his chest. She shakes her head firmly, wetness in her eyes. "Never frozen," she disagrees. "You are the embodiment of warmth and love. There's no way this heart was ever frozen."

He kisses her, nothing more than a brush of lips, an exchange of breath. "Well…not since you thawed it."

 _I love you_ , she thinks, effusing the thought with the full impact of her feelings for him, feelings that are so great that sometimes she feels too small, too insubstantial to hold them and carry their weight. Like her love might break her with its ferocity.

Edward's next kiss is firmer, a steady contact that draws the blood from her brain and the air from her lungs. _I love you_ , he returns, complete in his devotion.

And she knows that he feels eclipsed by his love for her, too.

They are consumed.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Grandfather Aro,_

 _You think you're very funny, don't you? I pity Grandmother Sulpicia if this is the humor she has had to contend with for three thousand years - she must be a saint. However, I did enjoy the book. Knowledge is always a gift._

 _I am glad that you have returned safely to Volterra, although I do wonder at your phrasing and find myself confused at Mele's continued presence. What are you having her do, Grandfather? No. No, I would rather remain ignorant. I need not be scarred by the depth of your cunning - I am still sorting through the vast well of your memories. I confess that it wakes me some nights. You have seen and done so much._

 _Am I a pacifist? I don't know; ask me after I have been tested and I will tell you how I score. I cannot possibly have an opinion one way or another until confronted with a situation that demands the kind of considerable action that would prompt a choice of pacifism over militarism. Although, there is no true opposite to pacifism, is there? You either are or aren't a pacifist; there isn't a third option in which you can be something else. If you are a pacifist, then you are a pacifist. If you aren't, then perhaps you are an activist or a nihilist or a militarist. But you cannot be both. I suppose this is one of those black-and-white situations that life does not often hand us. Everything is so muddled and complex. Has it always been this way?_

 _Please let Grandmother Sulpicia know that I am faithfully wearing the pendant. There is not a moment where it ever leaves my person, as I am sure she intended._

 _All my love,_

 _Your Granddaughter Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Jasper, would you at least _pretend_ to listen?" she groans in exasperation, flopping over onto the coffee table in the Cullen living room with her forehead pressed onto her folded arms. She barely restrains herself from reaching out and grasping Jasper's scarred hands to give him a taste of her frustration, but she doesn't need to. It's more than obvious to Bella that they are feeding each others ire; between her natural aggravation, Jasper's natural irritation, and Jasper's gift making all that agitation swirl in a never ending loop, she can't quite tell if she is as angry as she would have been if she'd been debating the issue with anyone else.

And here Bella thought that Mrs. Kelley had a stroke of genius in pairing Bella and Jasper together for a project. In class, it had seemed _perfect_ ; Jasper loved history and Bella enjoyed the intense debate of the course and nobody else in the class would volunteer to pair with either of them. It was logical that Jasper and Bella work together. She'd been looking forward to it.

But _oh_ , how much she is ruing her enthusiasm. She'd made a grave mistake in assuming that, like most other topics, she and Jasper would share the same view on the topic of the project they had to work on. Bella had been very, very wrong. It was _impossible_ to argue the benefits of the Industrial Revolution with someone who had _lived through it_.

"Sure, I'll listen," Jasper drawls cantankerously. "Just as soon as all that infernal buzzin' of electricity stops so I can gather my damn thoughts for once."

Bella twitches when he drops something onto the coffee table with enough force to rattle the fork on the half-eaten strawberry shortcake that Esme had braved the living room to serve a half-hour earlier. She doesn't raise her head, almost certain that he'd dropped his cell phone. Sometimes, Jasper _really_ shows his age - he's not a huge fan of modern electronics because _apparently_ it was difficult for pre-electric vampires to filter out the tinny crackle running through everything.

Carlisle never seemed to have a problem, but then again, he was probably willing to trade the advances of modern medicine for that tiny irritant. Or maybe Jasper was just special. Hadn't he lived through wars? Could vampires have PTSD? She's not about to ask.

Bella sits up with a sigh. "Why don't we take a break?" she suggests, refusing to quiver under the force of Jasper's black gaze. He could be frightening when he really wants to be and from Edward's thoughts, her weaker eyesight is shielding her from seeing the emblazoned _danger_ - _Will-Robinson_ sign that is the multitude of Jasper's scarring, his trophies that he was one vampire that should not be messed with.

Jasper nods curtly, standing with lightning-fast speed and visibly trying to calm himself. Alice dances down the staircase, twirling around her mate and radiating enough blossom-bright joy that Jasper's gift automatically begins clearing the tension from the air. Alice leans up to kiss him and Bella turns away, offering them privacy. She looks for Edward, expecting to see him sitting at the piano and finding him absent. Had he really been driven away by Jasper's gift?

She turns to clear off the coffee table, pausing in surprise to find it already done, stacked neatly to the side by her mate - who is dressed in what appears to be a baseball uniform, dove grey with charcoal stripes and a _17_ on the chest. Bella hasn't ever seen Edward dressed in anything that wasn't made of thicker fabrics - though he couldn't feel the cold, he seemed to enjoy sweaters as much as she did - and this thinner cotton pulls against the contours of his chest in interesting ways. He grins widely at her attention, reaching for her hand by second nature.

 _You're playing baseball?_ She clarifies, following his train of thought. _Because of a thunderstorm_?

A memory of he and Emmett crashing against each other, followed by a sound not at all unlike boulders thrashing against each other as they roll down a hill. Well. Of course they would need a thunderstorm - so rare in Washington - to cover _that_ amount of noise.

"Would you like to watch?"

Even if she hadn't been tuned into his thoughts, she didn't think she would be able to deny the sweetness in his eager expression, so youthful and carefree and not shadowed by the length of his eternal night. And that is how Bella finds herself perched on Edward's back as he races through the forest, running faster than he ever had as he, Rosalie, and Emmett have an actual footrace. Edward wins even with her additional weight ruining his lithe aerodynamics.

Edward doesn't brag about his victory with any outward expression of thought, but there is a smug tilt to his smirk that sets Emmett off on a competitive streak. "Race again," Emmett challenges, rolling his neck. "Best two out of three."

"No, I think I'm satisfied with the results," Edward says, standing behind Bella with his arms wrapped around her waist.

"What, are you afraid to lose, Masen?" Emmett taunts.

"Not at all, McCarty. Just wouldn't want to embarrass you in front of your wife… _again_."

Emmett's lip curls up. "You arrogant little- That's it. Esme, put me on whatever team _he's_ not on. We're going to settle this."

Esme, acting as referee to keep everyone honest and who was willing to sit the game out next to Bella, smothers her amusement as the teams line up, the bases are set, and starting positions are taken. Even though baseball has been on the fringe of her attention for Bella's entire life, she hasn't found any interest in it until now - watching Edward play is an experience, and not just because of the excitement of vampire strength and speed in how the game is played. He smiles the entire time. She wonders if he'd ever played baseball when he was human, or if he had been too focused on trying to sneak into war drafts to give the pastime much thought.

"Out!" Esme calls firmly. "Don't think I didn't see that either, Alice. You know you can't predict -"

"Alice, what was that?" Edward demands, cutting Esme off so suddenly that Bella's heart ratchets right into her throat. She responds to the terseness of her mate's voice, to the abrupt change in his mood, and gets her feet under her as quickly as possible. Edward blurs over to Alice, bending to stare hard in her unseeing eyes - and then racing to Bella's side before Alice can even gasp out an explanation.

"Nomads," she says. "Three of them. They were drawn by the sound of our game. And it's too late to fall back - they can hear us now."

Edward reaches behind himself, pressing his splayed palm on the curve of her spine to guide her against the width of his back, her forehead pressed to the jutting blade of his shoulder. He holds himself perfectly still, not even breathing. Bella twists her hand, slipping her fingers between the fabric of his shirt to touch the skin of his lower back. Edward's mind is completely focused on the three newcomers with a degree of intensity that is somehow both reassuring and frightening. Around them, the family arranges themselves; Carlisle and Esme toward the front, Rosalie before Edward, Emmett to the side, Jasper closest to Bella, and Alice in his shadow, clearly still sorting through rapid-fire visions.

Bella doesn't understand the urgency until the edge of Edward's mind is snagged by the blip of a vision that Alice sees -

 _Bella with her throat torn out._

His growls are sub-vocal. If she could see his eyes, she knows they would be black.

Bella brushes the tips of her fingers against his back more firmly. _I'm okay_ , she tells him. _That's not going to happen_.

Edward doesn't respond. He doesn't have time to because in the next moment, the three nomad enter the baseball clearing. She can't see them through her own eyes, so studies them through the lens of Edward's mind; they are dirty and unkempt, haggard as much as they are beautiful in a feral sort of way. The dark-skinned one is new to the coven. The sunken-cheeked blond leader is mated to the redhead with the cat-like gaze. All of them have blazing red eyes.

"Hello," Carlisle says pleasantly. "Passing through?"

"We heard your game," says the dark-skinned one, acting as spokesperson, an arrangement that the coven-leader insists upon for strategic advantages. "I am Laurent. These are James and Victoria. I don't suppose we would be able to play?"

"Unfortunately, our game as just ended," Carlisle responds apologetically.

"What a shame."

It might have ended there - a peaceable, if not slightly tense interaction that lead to nothing except for a few moments of stress. But then Edward tenses, latching onto the wild hinge of James' thoughts - James, who has recognized _Alice_ , and whose curiosity has been pinged. James knows Alice from her human life. He'd stalked her in the south, killed her family one by one, and driven her into an asylum before she was even thirteen. If that wasn't bad enough, James had also killed the vampire that sired Alice in retribution. Alice was James' singer. And James had never been satisfied by ripping the head from that old vampire that had protected Alice, that had hidden Alice far out of James' reach.

Alice and Edward realize in the same moment that James had noticed a scent on the air - an impossibly sweet, human scent. Bella's scent, which was unique and floral and sugared by her vampiric heritage.

Edward growls. It's a mistake as it firmly draws James curiosity to where Bella is hidden behind his back. Now, he zeroes in on her heart beat, on the whoosh of her breath quickly leaving her lungs as panic grips her.

"You brought a snack?" James purrs with an alien tilt of his head, dirty blonde hair falling across his face. "How convenient. She's a bit small to share, though."

"Forgive me," Carlisle says carefully, shifting his stance ever so slightly, his thoughts roving for a non-violent solution to a situation that is unfolding with such speed. "But I'm afraid you have a misapprehension about our family."

"Oh, I misunderstand _nothing_ ," James promises. His thoughts flash between Alice and Bella's scent, about how much of a fair trade it would be. Bella smelled almost as sweet as Alice, almost as young and innocent. What would this coven care about losing their little pet when they _already had the pet that should have been his_?

Bella trembles at the darkness of James' thoughts, but she doesn't pull her hand away from Edward's skin - sharing in this terror with him, stubbornly refusing to hide away from the evil sledging through James' mind. Edward has a particular burden in his family, one that he shares with Jasper and Alice. Being the monitors, always on and always watching, had a certain kind of stress to it that she hadn't appreciated until now.

The seconds are passing like an up-tempo metronome, a steady progression that zooms right by along with all of the options that are very soon going to be impossible to even attempt. Edward may be monitoring James, but Bella has switched to monitoring Alice - following the whirl of possible futures as they come and go in a blink of an eye. Alice can't find an option that limits causalities, not if she wants to honor Carlisle's pacifism, not if she wants to save Bella's life.

James is a tracker and his mate seems to have a gift of evasion. Between the two of them, this situation could go on for _years_ and that just wasn't feasible.

No matter what option Alice foresaw, the Cullen's - _Edward_ \- lost.

Bella's thoughts race.

Alice was looking for a single-shot solution, but maybe that was the wrong approach. Instead of looking for a way to win, what if Alice looked for a way to _stall_? But how to stall?

The pendant.

 _Edward_ , Bella thinks, shoving an image of her pendant to the forefront of his mind. He barely spares it a glance, too focused on tracking the thoughts of the tracker. She fists her hand in his shirt in frustration. She doesn't want to risk speaking out loud and breaking this stalemate the vampires have come to, but what other option does she have? It's not like she can just push her thoughts to Alice without touching -

Unless she could.

Bella had been doing things with her gift that she hadn't thought possible _all year_. She'd made it behave defensively. She'd made it into a two-way communication. Who said that she couldn't make that net of communication wider? Edward's telepathy was one-way - but if Bella was touching him, could she borrow his range and force a two-way communication? She didn't know - but it was clear that she had to try.

Bella closes her eyes. It's nerve-wracking to cut herself off from sight in the middle of all this, in these endless seconds while two sides contemplate fighting for the right to her life. Not that she could see anything _anyway_ while she was hidden behind Edward's back, but it still twists her stomach to make herself blind as she focuses, delving deep into Edward's mind with all the grace of a tripping elephant. She's not gentle about it and pain lances through his mind, making her falter for only a moment. She'll apologize later.

 _Alice, the pendant,_ she sends out, targeting Alice in particular. She sends the thought over and over, not sure if it's working - because while she's sending that thought to Alice, or at least trying to, she's also trying _not_ to send it to the nomads and she can't be certain that she's even doing what she was aiming to -

Blood drips from Bella's nose at the same moment that Alice's eyes snap in her direction, along with Jasper's - the incredulity is painted openly on their faces. She'd gotten through, clumsily and pushing to the edge of her limit and to the pain of both herself and her mate, _but she'd gotten through_. Alice had heard her and so had Jasper.

Two tactile minds latch onto Bella's sketchy plan and as she borrows Edward's telepathy, she can see that it might work. Jasper only needed a moment and Alice could use that moment, that change in the layout of the situation, to look for new solutions that weren't available at the moment.

Recklessly, Bella steps away from Edward, reaching for the pendant around her neck. He is already reaching for her, pulling her into his arms, as she brandishes the golden diamond Volturi seal in the direction of the nomads. And while James could care less about the Volturi, _Laurent_ understands what the necklace means; Laurent turns and runs, abandoning his new coven with a craven sort of fear that Bella appreciates with great zeal because it's one less vampire her coven has to battle.

The stall lasts for only a second, and then Edward is in motion, running as fast as his legs can push him as Jasper sends out a targeted emotional attack and Alice jets off to follow Edward's path. Bella wipes her nose with the back of her hand as Edward runs, feeling absurdly winded and wanting to apologize for hijacking her mate's gift - but there's not enough time. Edward is still touching her, so she knows exactly what his plan is.

 _We can't just run away!_ She argues.

 _Yes, we can!_

 _He's a tracker - what about Charlie?_

 _Charlie isn't my mate!_

 _You're not being reasonable! Think for a second, Edward!_

He doesn't slow and he doesn't change track. _What would you have me do?_

Bella shakes her head. She doesn't _know_ \- there doesn't seem to be an adequate solution, especially because James didn't seem intimidated by the Volturi _at all_. What could they do? No matter where Edward took her, James would be able to find them. And while Jasper and Emmett could rip the threat to shreds, it was already clear that Victoria had managed to drag both herself and James away after Jasper's initial disabling emotional lash. Carlisle and Esme had headed off after Laurent; Jasper was now following in Alice's tracks; and Emmett and Rosalie had fanned out, trying to track Victoria and James to no avail because Victoria's gift had allowed them to slip away. The situation was out of control - and confrontation was inevitable, that much was clear. The future was too cloudy for Alice to -

 _La Push_ , Bella realizes. _The wolves._

 _Alice can't see the wolves_ , Edward retorts, but he hesitates. He hadn't considered the werewolves, not for a second. Maybe it didn't matter that Alice was blind to the future if the wolves were directly involved; maybe they relied too much on Alice to predict the steps they should take. Maybe with the wolves, they could draw James out, and then surprise him with an ambush.

Sensing his agreement, Bella closes her eyes again, digging her fingers into his arms as she taps back into his telepathy, this time reaching for minds that buzzed with the static of a shared-mind. Edward takes a sharp turn, heading toward La Push and the treaty line, muttering with vampire-speed to Alice and Jasper at his heels that the plan had changed.

 _Sam!_ Bella calls out telepathically - over and over and over again, blood dripping steadily from her nose, which she sniffles back and swallows with a head-strong commitment to doing this new thing that is rapidly draining her of her energy. She feels like she's _stretching_ , but she won't stop.

 _Bloodsuckers,_ Sam acknowledges with a troubled realization that a leech was in _his_ mind. His massive wolf form appears not a moment later, running beside Edward with a ferocious growl of warning.

Bella pulls back in relief, dropping her hands from Edward's skin, her head spinning with dizzying speed as her mate explains the situation. The world darkens around her eyes. Her breathing is shallow and she's so _tired._

Drained.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She doesn't realize that she's lost consciousness until she has been deposited against the cropping roots of a huge tree straddling the treaty line. There are three wolves prowling around as Jasper and Edward seem to strategize with, a cell phone on speaker held between them. Alice is standing over her, a tiny guard with worried knit to her brow, and when Bella comes-to, Alice immediately kneels on her side, filling Bella in on the plan that had just been finalized.

It seems like only the Quileute wolves are excited at the prospects of this plan. The two slightly smaller wolves, Jared and Paul, are practically frothing at the opportunity to bite into vampire flesh. They had gone through the change for a reason, hadn't they? This was their chance to fulfill their birthright destiny.

Alice and Bella were acting as bait. Jasper would be upwind, along with the wolves, waiting to take James out when he came near enough. Edward - reluctantly - would be skirting the edges while Emmett and Rosalie herded James and Victoria in their direction. Esme and Carlisle were with Laurent, already pushing him out of the area beyond Seattle.

Bella is still weak from - well, from whatever it is that she'd done. She can barely wrap her mind around it and it's not really the time to think about it. Time is, in fact, running out. It's lucky that Bella woke up when she did, because according to Emmett, James was already heading in their direction with Victoria.

Jasper and Sam's pack go one direction. Edward dashes in the opposite direction after one long look at Bella. His eyes are dark, jaw clenched as tightly as his fists. She wonders how long he argued against this plan before Jasper's experience and the benefit of the wolves won him over - probably for the entire time she'd been unconscious, however long that had been.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Twilight has come over the forest, a final winter fog rolling over the chilly ground. With Alice's help, Bella stands, leaning her weight against the tree as her head spins. The wait is agonizing for both of them - Alice because she is flying blind and Bella because she feels as though she's balancing on pins and needles.

In spite of Sulpicia's confidence, the pendant _didn't work_. James didn't respect the rule of the Volturi. How many other vampires felt the same way? Was her grandfather's rule in jeopardy? Did Aro know that he was losing authority over nomadic vampires, that the anarchists no longer feared the judgment of Volterra?

Would she have the chance to tell him?

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella tips her head back, shifting on her feet. She wants to sit down. She's also almost unbearably thirsty, a dry itch in her throat that rivals the gnawing hunger clenching her belly. Bella concentrates on breathing, slow and measured, her eyes trained on Alice, waiting for any kind of indication that the plan was working, that James was coming for them -

In the end, it doesn't matter. Alice is _blind_ and her senses aren't as honed as other vampires due to the laxness she has allowed to grow in the advantage of her gift. Not only does Alice not see him coming, but she doesn't hear him, either. James has knocked Alice far into the forest in the space of a single blink, seemingly appearing out of nowhere with a snarl and an aggressive turn toward Bella, the real prize.

"You think you're so clever," he growls, crowding against her space. "You and your pathetic coven think you've outsmarted me, but you haven't and I'm going to enjoy proving just how wrong you were. Ordinarily, I'd draw this out, really enjoy the taste - but I can hear someone in the woods and they would only ruin my fun…"

And like another vampire not so long ago, James' hand closes around her throat, his strength hoisting her in the air, her back scraping against rough bark through the fabric of her clothes. But unlike Edward, he doesn't hesitate to go in for the kill - there is nothing stopping him from sinking his teeth right into her neck and ripping through her flesh as easily as tissue paper.

Nothing except for Bella, that is.

Her mind lashes out defensively, a vicious tinge to the same thought of _NO_ forced into James' mind like a battering ram - so much more powerful than what she had done to Edward, fueled by genuine fear of her life.

It is enough to send James reeling, his eyes squeezed shut as his mind vibrates under the gong-like force of her thoughts. But then he snarls, an ugly noise that preludes his second attempt, though this time he is thwarted by Alice's return.

The world twists around Bella as she is moved, held in front of James' body with her neck jerked to the side, straining under the pressure of his unforgiving grip as he faces Alice in a standoff that she is only barely aware off. Bella is distantly aware that she is rapidly loosing blood, that the chain of her pendant has broken under the gnash of James' teeth into her neck, that the wolves and Jasper would be coming any second - but it all fades in the clamor of her mind, which is simultaneously and fetidly trying to keep up her defensive attack even as another, less dominant part of her mind is awakening.

She's dying. She knows that. Bella is _dying_ , right here, right now - it will be blood loss either way that stills the beat of her heart, that much is certain.

And maybe that's why she's able to give herself over to the power of her gift. Bella closes her eyes - even as familiar faces blur into the tiny clearing where this is all happening - and melts back into her consciousness, devoting her remaining energy to fighting for as long as she can.

 _No, no, NO_ , her mind shrieks, battering in ever-growing weakness to thwart James away. It isn't working as effectively as it had for Edward, though, because James isn't a telepath and her defense isn't strong enough.

Something switches on in the deepest epicenter of her hindbrain. A long-dormant instinct to _take_ , to _feed_ , to _survive_ \- and Bella is too weak to do anything but allow it to reign free. Some insidious aspect of her gift snakes forward and seizes upon all of James' mental energy. A sort of mental bite not unlike the bite he had delivered to her neck. She claws at his mind, instinctive, hardly even aware of herself or what she's going -

Her connection to James ends abruptly and right on its heels is a roaring voice, followed by the sounds of ripping metal piercing the air.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella's eyes crack open. She's laying down, boneless on the forest floor.

She blinks.

There's Edward's beautiful face hovering over her, his mouth forming words that she can't hear.

Blink.

A burning building in her veins, but it's cold. Isn't it supposed to be hot? Oh. She's bled too much. Too fast for the venom to do its job - her artery had been ripped open, hadn't it? How messy. Stupid vampire.

Blink.

Alice's face over her, shaking her head, saying something to Edward that he doesn't like, something that makes his chiseled features collapse in agony.

Blink.

The scent of smoke and fire and wolves growling, always growling.

Blink.

" _Bella_."

Blink.

 _Love_. That's Edward. That's her mate's mind. Oh, he sounds so _sad_ , anguished. She doesn't understand - why should Edward be sad? James is gone. They won.

Blink.

They hadn't won - that's right, Bella is dying. How silly of her to forget.

Blink.

Bella reaches up, searching for Edward's skin. He grasps her hand, holding it against his cheek.

 _Can you hear me_? He asks and his mouth moves but that's not where Bella hears the sound.

 _I love you_ , she answers. _I'm sorry I don't have enough blood_.

Blink.

Edward is shouting something - and then in the next moment, a gush of hot, rich iron is pouring over her mouth. It's too much. It's choking her. She has to swallow or she won't be able to breathe.

 _Oh_ , she thinks, warmth flooding her stomach, tingling through her body. She swallows greedily.

Blink.

When the blood slows, it is replaced by something else - another kill. _Rabbit_ , she thinks and her thoughts are getting more clear, strength returning in droves that almost beat back the fire sparking in her veins.

"That's it, love," Edward murmurs, helping her hold her jaw open, his fingers slick with blood from ripping open the necks of animals that Jasper and Alice have caught for her. "Just drink."

Blink.

She pushes away the next kill he tries to give her, catching his wrist with shaking hands. She feels much too hot. "It's happening," she manages and she wants to know how and why and if he can stop the fire, but then the world really does go black.

Her last coherent thought is, _I didn't think it would hurt this much_.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is February.

* * *

 **A/N: Well. That happened. I'm just going to….you know…. *nervous titter***

 **Quick note about Charlie and Renee - should he woo her back? Sure, maybe. But he won't. The man lived in her ghost-house for fifteen years, wallowing in the loss of her love, and I just don't realistically see him growing any sort of balls about it now that he knows he's special!**

 **Should Bella want her Mom around? Yeah, ideally - but again, we're going canon here as much as possible. Bella being Aro's great-great-granddaughter changed a whole lot of things; her books, her confidence, some of her personality quirks, and certainly her eating habits, but...I mean, canon-Bella knew Renee was too flighty to handle a big secret and it's just easier. Also, being from a single-parent household, I'm not entirely convinced that two-parent homes are necessary. Knowing what I know about my father, I definitely wouldn't want him back in my mother's life; similarly, Renee hurt Charlie A LOT when she left and I'd like to think that Bella would spare her father the pain of revisiting all of that.**

 **Also, does the mate-bond go two ways? Yes - if the two are vampires, or at least partially vampire. Charlie drew the short-stick with an unrequired mate-bond, but that happens because life just isn't always fair. And why shouldn't Charlie be changed, too? Simply put: He doesn't want to.**

 **A lot of this story is about choice, you know, about respecting people's choices, in part to correct the fact that canon-Bella had choices taken from her the entire series (*cough* Edward *cough*) and that's always been a huge issue for me...SO. Anyway. Part of respecting people is respecting their choices, their free will, their ability to think for themselves. I hope that's coming through, for anyone who just sits back and wonder why I did something - it was probably because I wanted to respect that character's ability to chose or offer a choice.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	9. eight: a day for burning

**eight**

 **a day for burning**

* * *

 **"The future is something which everyone reaches at the rate of sixty minutes an hour, whatever he does, whoever he is."**

 **C. S. Lewis**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Time means nothing in the burning hours. _Nothing_.

It is pain like nothing she has felt before. Harrowing as it eats into her bone marrow, hollowing her out from the inside; agony that scalds at her neurons, boiling like acid over synapse and axon; stinging wildfire aching from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. She is charred alive, raked over fire-hot coals - singed, scorched, seared, and stabbed in an endless series of prolonged moments of undiluted hellfire torment.

It is purgatory - and she is under conflagration for her sins, whatever they might have been.

The combustion of her body is beyond her imagination and she rattles in the inferno, waiting and waiting to shrivel under the blaze but it never happens and it never ends.

It never ends.

She wishes for death.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

In the burning there is a voice slipping cool and familiar through her mind, a balm to the aching sear. Sometimes, the voice talks to her - calls her _love_ and tells her that it's almost over and that she's been very brave and that she is adored and that he will be there for her when she wakes up. She lives in half-coherent anticipation for the voice, longing for those too-brief moments where the voice is more important than the fire.

But other times, the voice is directed at someone else and even as she listens, she does not benefit from hearing it - the voice is not speaking _to her_ , so it does not abate the blaze.

"Why doesn't she scream?" it asks one time and she feels herself stall in confusion, even in the utter grasp of the fire. Because isn't she screaming? She feels like she is. Perhaps her screams are internal - why does that feel like something that would happen to her? Did she have a habit of internalizing? Oh, yes, she did. She knows that. She kept everything in so nothing could come out - instinctive because there was something _hungry_ in her that would always _taketaketaketake_ , just like these flames she is writhing in -

"Every change is different," replies another voice, this one smoother and more calm. Clinical. "Hers will be especially…unique."

She hadn't noticed that the familiar voice - _love_ \- had a tone that wasn't reassuring - rather the familiar voice is rough with agony, with worry. She doesn't know how to fix that, only that she _wants_ that voice to always be happy.

"I don't think she can hear me."

 _I can_ , she wants to say, but the fire has roasted the sound right out of her throat.

"I can't… _feel_ her, anymore," the voice says, defeated and forlorn. "Her mind is locked away. Not even touch can…"

The flames roar, consuming her all over again.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

At some point, she becomes aware of the beat of her heart - it pounds with unrelenting strength, pumping the fire through her veins so that she can broil under the fiery attention. But it seems as if noticing her heartbeat has made the fire hotter and the steadiness of her pulse begins to falter, then race.

Her heart is trying to thunder out of her chest - to escape the heat, she's sure - and the fire chases its hasty retreat, the smolder creeping from her extremities and into her chest. Her heart can't escape the supernova flames, the nuclear fusion branding her with that white-hot fire. The beats between her heart come nonexistent - pounding too fast, too hard, shaking her body until she feels the _crackle_ of her spine as it bows - and finally a scream is ripped out of her silent throat.

As soon as it starts, as intense as it was, it stops. Her heart is still as her lungs expand breathlessly. The fire ends abruptly, leaving a sense of coolness it its wake and, for a moment, she wonders if she hadn't imagined it all.

And then - her heart beats. Once. A slow throb, before it stills once again.

Maybe that had been it - the last stand of her heart in the wage of a war with fire that never was.

Except that time has no meaning and so when it happens _again_ \- when her heart throbs with a single, strong pulse - she knows. The burning is over. She had somehow managed to escape, to live with her heart still warming her chest and rushing lifeblood through her veins.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

As she wakes with the same immediate sense of awareness that has colored every morning of her life, Bella concludes that vampire bites _really suck_. She'd seen Edward's memories of his change, of course, but something about the pain just didn't translate so well in memory - she'd known what to expect academically, but _feeling_ it was another matter entirely. When she opens her eyes, she half-expects to see her charred skin curling away from her bones, to be surrounded by ashes, and the undeniable, haunting scent of burning human flesh.

Instead, Bella opens her eyes to one of the lovely guest rooms in the Cullen household as the early sun filters through the half-opened lavender curtains over the window. She's laying on a chaise couch, covered with a white cashmere blanket, and decidedly _not_ nursing third-degree burns even though her memory would beg to argue. She stares down the length of her body for a moment, gathering her wits about her -

And then something to her right shifts, and her head snaps to follow her gaze even as some part of her mind registers _mate_.

Edward is standing utterly still in the middle of the room, his expression completely dumbfounded, as if he can't believe what he's seeing. Bella considers this. She _supposes_ that the last time they'd seen each other had left her as quite the sight, as she has fuzzy recollections of becoming James' personal ragdoll-and-snack and she's sure that it wasn't a pretty picture. But she's fine now - except for this persistent ache in her jaw and a bit of dryness to her throat - so she doesn't quite understand why Edward is _all the way over there_ and why he appears so perplexed and -

Bella sits up, blanket falling over her lap as she slaps her hand against the smooth skin of her neck - well, mostly smooth. There is a slight rise over her jugular vein, a faint scar she knows will be in two perfect crescent-shaped patterns. "He bit me," she says unnecessarily.

Edward risks a slow nod. He's not looking at her, exactly. His head is cocked like he's listening for something and his eyes are riveted on her chest. She looks down too, momentarily appreciative for the cerulean silk collared nightdress keeping her modesty, and then frowning when she doesn't see whatever it is that has caught Edward's attention.

Suddenly, Edward flinches.

"What? What is it?" she demands, rising from the couch with a graceful movement. She doesn't even think about it - there is no lapse in _wanting_ to move and actually moving.

His mouth opens and closes a few times. "Your…heart," he finally mumbles, heavy brows knit tightly together in some cross between confusion and frustration.

Bella shifts her weight to one foot, idly scratching an itch on the back of her leg with her toe. "What about my heart? It's fine."

"It's _beating_ ," Edward tells her.

She arches her brows. "Yeah, I know. Otherwise, we wouldn't be talking, would we?"

"You were bitten and your heart is _beating_ ," he reiterates.

She doesn't _get it_ at first. It doesn't exactly compute - what did it matter if she was bitten if she's still alive? Obviously, Edward had done something to save her. She faintly recalls a copper taste and warmth flooding her stomach - and actually, she thinks harder about the last time she was awake, frowning at how inaccessible those memories are -

And then _everything_ comes back and Bella gasps, pressing her hand over her chest as she sinks to the floor. "Oh, my God," she whispers, waiting and waiting and waiting for long moments until - there. There it is. The singular beat of her heart, strong and steady and so slow it almost doesn't count, except that it _does_ because she was _bitten_ and her heart should be beating at all.

She looks up at Edward as they wait for the next beat. Her lungs rise and fall at a regular rate and she still blinks as often as before - but the beats of her heart are separated by almost a full minute. "What's happening to me?" she breathes, regretting voicing her thought the moment Edward's expression collapses into absolute alarm.

"Carlisle!" he calls as he blurs with vampire-speed to open the door to the room before coming back to Bella, crouched behind her with his hands on her shoulders as they wait for his sire to arrive.

 _Yes_ , she laments, knees tucked beneath her chin as she presses palms to her chest, tracking the rise and fall of her chest and the metronome of her heartbeat, mind reeling. _Carlisle will know what to do._

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Except - except Carlisle doesn't know what to do. His frank amazement at her _condition_ colors his every word as he does a brief examination. Her skin has taken on the vampire quality of smoothness and better - not perfect - durability, but it doesn't react under the sun with more than a subtle glow; her temperature is higher than average by a few degrees; her sight and hearing have improved; as far as this preliminary exam can conclude, she doesn't have any considerable vampire-level strength or speed. It takes Carlisle a while to figure out how to withdraw blood, but after a swipe of a surgical scalpel over the tender vein in her elbow, he is able to collect a vial for testing; the _weird_ part is when Carlisle turns to bandage her arm and they both stare down at the slow-healing of puckering skin in astonishment.

He asks about her thirst and she shrugs - because while the ache in her jaw, in her teeth, doesn't fade after eating human food and drinking water with no desire to purge the content so her stomach and she doesn't feel an all-consuming urge to go hunt Bambi in the forest.

In some ways, for Bella, it is like waking up for the first time. She feels _good_ , even with the question of her abnormal response to vampire venom. Like her body had finally caught up to her mind in terms of development; she doesn't _feel_ like a newborn in the way that anyone was expecting and she doesn't know what it means. But aside from these mild changes in her physiology, Bella is still _Bella_.

It is both disturbing and a comfort.

"I'll find answers, Bella," he promises as he departs from the guest room, leaving she and Edward to stare at each other silently, pensively. The rest of the family is downstairs, giving them a wide berth and much-appreciated privacy in these moments, but she can still hear them - tiny echoes in the house that indicate activity, things that she might not have been able to hear before without actively straining her ears.

What does any of this mean?

There are not explanations - yet.

But there are other queries that can be clarified, something proactive that can be done while they wait for Carlisle to cook up a theory that makes _sense_ for this senseless situation they are in. Bella stretches her hand out, palm-up and plaintive, and Edward meets her touch.

The results of her transformation are not the only odd thing about what happened after she was bitten - Edward's infallible memory counts exactly eleven hours, sixteen minutes, and eight seconds since vampire venom was released into her veins. It had taken less than a _day_ for her body to absorb the venom. Because she was a hybrid? Probably. There was nothing else to compare it to; no other hybrid had been bitten, there were no records to consult, and everything from this point on would be pure conjecture. At the very least, they would have to be patient: either Carlisle would come to some conclusion, or Bella would be seized by the return of the transformation. Until then, they would all be in limbo and out of their elements.

Bella shakes her head, redirecting her thoughts, prioritizing for answers that she _can_ have. _What happened, exactly? Show me_.

Edward does.

He skims over the strategizing with Jasper and the Quileute pack - because she clearly remembers that - and skips right to his gut-wrenching moment of vivid realization when he'd come back to the treaty line, heralded by Alice's wild future-flashing thoughts and the slick sense of victory in James' mind that had been replaced by a sudden sense of _deflation_ that Edward couldn't pin-point the source of. He'd seen James bite her and hadn't hesitated, speeding past Alice's horror-struck form and ripping James away from Bella with little care to his strength. His heedless actions had finished what James had started and Bella had slumped to the forest floor with her neck ripped clean open, a grotesque fraying of tendon and blood that made his still heart turn to ice.

Edward still maintained that guilt - he'd as good as damned her to this fate.

 _It was going to happen one way or another_ , she says soothingly.

Edward bows his head, moving onto the next moments that were, as he remembered them, the end of her human life - and the beginning of her immortal life.

Upon realizing that his actions had done more damage that James had done alone, Edward had abandoned James in favor of Bella - and he'd cradled her limp, rapidly cooling form as Sam Uley and Paul Lahote had torn James asunder. It was Jasper who had burned James' body and who had spurred Alice and Edward into action - Jasper knew more about turning humans than even Carlisle and he'd been confident that enough venom had gotten into her blood to turn her if they could just stop the bleeding. Alice's visions had been going haywire, from interference with the wolves and the uncertainty of Bella's future. Edward had been hopeless.

There was so much blood.

Bella had been _dying_ \- and they only had the knowledge that the venom would work if she had enough blood to make it pass through her system. Even _Bella_ had known that. She'd been the one to point it out, bleary and straddling the line of consciousness, tucked into the safe-haven of Edward's mind as she faded in and out.

 _I'm sorry I don't have enough blood_ , she'd thought obliquely - and Edward had latched onto that with the desperation of a man losing his entire world. He'd barked orders to anyone who would listen _\- "bring back any small game you can find, quickly!" -_ and clamped his hand over the wound in her neck. And then he'd held the open throats of rabbits and squirrels over Bella's mouth until she'd swallowed, her esophagus moving beneath his fingers as she drank and drank and drank.

The vampires had never seen or heard anything like it - and even Edward acknowledged that there was something disturbing about the scene, something primeval that had been absent from the bite that saved him from the Spanish Influenza. _Was this how the first vampire was created?_ He'd been too far-gone to care, though, because with the more blood Bella drank, the warmer she became, the stronger her heart beat. The wound on her neck closed, aided by the venom or perhaps something more - it didn't matter. Edward had only felt his desperation slacken when Jasper had sensed the venom starting the change. He'd slipped his hands beneath Bella's body, cradled her against his chest, and had run back home to meet Rosalie at the house to continue the triage work until Carlisle could arrive.

Bella aches for her mate - for having to carry those crystal-clear moments of her near-death _. I'm sorry_ , she directs toward him _,_ clenching her fingers tightly around his - more tightly than she ever had before.

 _You're alive_ , Edward says firmly. _That is all that matters_.

His conviction is a comfort and Bella breathes easier. She's different now, strange even by vampire standards, a mystery that will need to be unraveled - but she is _alive_.

 _What else?_ She inquires, gently rifling through the loose-ends that were left in the wake of the baseball game.

Alice and Jasper ran interference with the wolves; the last he'd heard, Sam Uley had spoken on their behalf to the Tribal Elders and waived Bella's impromptu transformation. It hadn't been a Cullen to bite her, after all. The treaty still stood without issue and the two beta wolves, Jared and Paul, were crowing over their victory in killing James.

Victoria was still on the loose, disappeared to God knows where and neither Alice nor anyone else had seen hide or hair of her. Laurent had been talked into visiting the coven in Denali by Esme, who could be very persuasive when she put her mind to it; she had arrived back home after acting as escort only hours before Bella woke up.

Emmett, being the most human-friendly of them, had been sent to deliver the news of Bella's transformation to Charlie; Rosalie was at the Swan house now, gathering items from Bella's room and giving Charlie has much comfort as she was able. According to Rose and Emmett, Charlie was just glad that Bella was alive - but she wouldn't be able to see her father, not yet. Not until they knew she didn't have the newborn bloodlust lurking somewhere within her.

So many things up in the air, so many things that would need to be resolved and so many things that had been resolved already.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She was supposed to be seventeen forever - not stuck at fifteen like Alice.

Bella closes her eyes, leaning her forehead against Edward's firm chest as his arms slip around her - cold from his ambient body temperature, but she's warm enough to withstand it without discomfort. Her high temperature, her new constant, it makes her feel like the hellfire of the venom had never burned out of her body - like she was still smoldering in the flames, even if the pain didn't touch her, even if the fire didn't _burn_ anymore.

Her heart beats - a singular pulse.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is the day that burned.

* * *

 **A/N: Next chapter is the regularly-scheduled month-long spiel. I thought long and hard about how best to approach this part of the story and I thought an interlude chapter would suit it best. So, there it is.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	10. nine: march

**nine**

 **march**

* * *

 **Our life is March weather, savage and serene in one hour.**

 **\- - - Ralph Waldo Emerson**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

This phone call is hard.

Bella has been listening to Carlisle's side of the conversation while Edward rubbed circles into the side of her wrist for a solid ten minutes. They are in Carlisle's office, which has Esme's unique decorative stamp on it in the form of a rich bistre floor rug and a spherical citrine paperweight atop the gleaming mahogany desk that is a clear antique that is nearly as old as Carlisle himself. His office, on the second floor of the home, also doubles as a library. Bella allows her eyes to rove over the expansive titles when the voice on the other end of the line growls in irritation as Carlisle explains the situation in as much detail as possible. The patriarch of the Cullen coven has been thoroughly chastised - and subtly threatened - for the consequences of the night before.

There is a lot of sighing and pinched noses - the latter mostly from Edward, who had never broken out of that human habit of tension release. Eventually, though, Carlisle stands and rounds the desk, standing at her side with his cell phone held out in offering.

Bella takes the device, bringing it to her ear and squeezing Edward's hand as she gathers her thoughts. She doesn't even manage a greeting before the dulcet voice on the other end of the line says, "Precious."

A deep breath and then, "Grandfather…" Bella makes an effort to not be distracted by the sound of her own voice, which has the same tone and dialect, but quality is musical, more rich. Over the phone, it's a dead giveaway, a confirmation of Carlisle's news, and she knows that Aro realizes this the second she opens her mouth. She cuts her eyes to the side, smiling faintly at Carlisle, then facing forward so that she might concentrate only on Aro. This is important; everyone in the house has stopped their activities to listen. "I hope you are trying not to be so mad."

"Oh, darling, I'm quite furious, I assure you. My dear friend Carlisle is so very fortunate that I am not anywhere near him at the moment, for then the Cullen coven would have a patriarch with a missing head," Aro replies lightly. Wherever he is in the Volterra castle is deathly silent - he is alone as he receives this call, which might be better than if he'd been near the brothers or even Sulpicia. Aro is so mercurial and this is such shocking news - yes, it is best that he is able to gather himself in privacy. They are so alike.

Bella stands taller, though of course Aro can't see the defiance of her posture. "It wasn't the fault of the Cullen's," she says firmly. "The nomad was malicious and single-minded. There was no choice but to confront him head-on - to minimize the situation, but also to protect the humans in the area. The Cullens did everything they could to protect me, just as you requested."

"Oh?" Aro's tone is blatantly doubtful, though at least he isn't raging at _her_ the way he had raged at Carlisle. She isn't sure how long Aro's anger will last, or if he will bank his ire for logic. Aro did often read Aristotle, and so Bella at least attempts a different track.

"Grandfather, it was Aristotle who said, _'Anybody can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way - that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.'"_

"Precious, surely you aren't attempting to mediate with philosophy?"

Bella sighs. "I am, actually."

The trace of anger that had lingered in Aro's tone vanishes in a bemused, lilting laugh. "Truly, you are of my blood!"

Her lips twitch. "I am…and I was going to be changed anyway," she reminds him unnecessarily. "I don't mind that it's earlier, honestly. It's probably for the better."

"And that is the only silverlining in this situation, precious - that you are now immortal," Aro intones imperiously, but she can just imagine the way his expression would transform from cynical to amused in the blink of an eye. "A very _unique_ immortal. You are quite special, granddaughter. A new race of vampire by Carlisle Cullen's estimation. I must admit that I could care less about what type of vampire you are, only that you _are_ vampire."

"I am," she confirms - unique and a vampire. Yes, she is both of those things.

"Caius, however, is immensely interested in these proceedings," Aro continues blithely. "He is greatly looking forward to meeting you during the summer months and ascertaining the quirks of hybrids for himself."

Bella purses her lips. "Will things in Volterra have calmed by then?"

Aro laughs in bemusement. "Volterra is always calm, precious," he answers. "It is only a matter of discarding outdated and overused associates and that is made easier by certain members of the guard. Nothing to clutter your pretty head over."

Bella can only imagine - Aro has a propensity for casting broad understatements. She supposed it came with the territory of being so old, as there was likely no situation that Aro hadn't experienced at least once before. Defectors in his court had to be passé, even if the very thought of his safety in danger is deeply concerning. If she is this worried about him in a situation where he has maintained all of the control, then she can only imagine how worried he was to hear about the situation _she_ was in where all of the control had been quite literally ripped out of her hands.

"Please tell my Uncles that I am looking forward to finally meeting them," she says, an implied promise that she _would_ be going to Volterra on her own time, just as she has been planning for years before she'd even met the Cullens and discovered the truth about her heritage. Nothing had changed. There was just a new normal. "And give Grandmother Sulpicia my love."

"I shall do as you request."

"Thank you, Grandfather."

"If I may off some advice, however?"

"Of course," she says attentively.

"Precious, do be sure to sate that thirst of yours - whenever it may come, for I am certain that it will come eventually. You must not shy away from your nature. Do not let petty human ethics keep you from attaining that which you desire," Aro advises somberly. "Was it not Socrates who said, ' _The right choice remains that in which the pleasures exceed the pains; this is the preferred course. The wrong choice remains that in which the pains outweigh the pleasures; this course is to be rejected._ '

"I will remember that, Grandfather," she promises, passing the phone back to Carlisle after a murmured farewell.

Bella swallows, wondering how Aro could possibly know about the dry ache of her throat, the pressure in her jaws, which she hadn't told _anyone_ outright. Edward knew, but he'd not said anything, either. Similarly, neither of them had spoken a word about that oddity that sprang defensively from her mind, nor the way James had begun to quail beneath her mental attack before Edward had ripped him away.

She tilts her head up, catching her mate's eye. How long would they bide their time on these matters - and why did it feel like sand was slipping through the hourglass as they waited for this uncertainty of her new vampiric life to pass?

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

In many ways, the adjustment is - difficult - and that first week is the hardest once she finishes reeling from what has happened to her. All of her senses have become more acute, more precise, and with that comes a series of trials by fire that leave her floundering for the first time in her life.

The only thing that grounds her in reality is her mate - Edward's steadiness and the refuge of his touch is Bella's saving grace in this period of adjustment.

Sound is the most difficult.

The first time the blustery March winds sweep through the forest, Bella huddles in the closet of the guest room with her hands clamped over hear ears, quivering as she tried to shut out the terrible howling outside. The wind rushes loudly, as if being pushed through a tunnel and directly into her ear canal, and it shakes everything in its path, shrieking a horrible war-cry each time a bough bows beneath its ferocity. She feels as if she is standing in the middle of the gust, waiting to be carried off by the wind as it shivers around the Cullen house.

And it isn't as if she hears _everything_ \- but she hears much better than she used to and the magnifying of noises that she hadn't known before sends her nerves skittering around. She finally understands Jasper's disgruntlement with electronic devices.

Nothing can be worse than the wind, though. She cringes in the closet, muttering to herself. "Just keep breathing," she says over and over. _Just keep breathing._

Edward finds her there in the dark night, gently coaxing her to rest her head against his chest as he kneels in the doorway of the closet, the resonate purr of his voice eventually becoming distracting enough that she begins to recognize the tune he hums for her.

"Listen to me, love," he murmurs. "Shhh, it's alright. Focus on me."

That is the first time she hears her lullaby, a sweet-prickling melody that is alternatively hopeful and fraught with unease - a representation of the first time he'd seen her. He takes to playing for her when the winds blow too loudly for her improved hearing and she spends many March nights fit between the space of his thighs on the piano bench, snug with her back against his chest, watching as his long fingers slip over the ivory keys of the baby grand until her eyes ease shut.

She still sleeps - just not as often. When fatigue hits, she need only lay down for a few hours to recharge, small naps that are only actually necessary a few times a week. But Bella, seeking refuge from the adjustment, escapes to the guest room more often than she really needs to. The chaise lounge had been replaced by a double-bed by the time it becomes apparent that she - unbelievably - still slumbers. But not alone - laying down alone does nothing but leave her staring at the ceiling restlessly.

After the storm that sends her cowering in the closet, Edward quietly appears in her room each time she changes into pajamas, solemnly offering his hand. Always a choice of whether she wants him there or not - always ready to acquiesce with whatever is easiest for her in that moment, even as she actively senses that he wants nothing more than to glue himself to her side and take the burden of her new senses onto himself. But since he cannot do that and because Bella will have to adjust eventually, they compromise with his presence in her bed. Often, the night will fall and they will be wrapped around each other, chaste and warm with her head pillowed on his chest and his arms bracketing her waist, their fingers laced together.

 _Sing me to sleep_ , she will request and Edward will kiss the top of her head, humming her lullaby and protecting her mind with his own.

And whenever she wakes, she will tilt her chin up for a kiss, enthralled by the spice of cinnamon that greets her tongue as his mouth opens beneath hers. Had she once thought that they were magnets, drawn to each other like polar atoms? She'd been _blind_. The instinct - both new and old - to be near Edward, to be with him, is stronger than anything that occurs in nature or science.

She's certain that the only reason they haven't gone further than kissing is because of how easily overwhelmed she is by her heightened senses - it's becoming clear that not even Edward's Victorian-influenced upbringing can bank the passion that brews between them, passion that is unleashed by whatever has happened to her. They are in tune with each other in a way that hadn't been possible when she'd been mostly-human. Compatible.

Kissing Edward proves that taste is the best sense she has gained.

The taste of his lips lingers on her own for hours and hours - tingling along her taste buds where the thin secretion of venom from his mouth mingles within hers. Edward's venom doesn't hurt her and she knows that it is in large part because they are mates, even if she is not the same sort of vampire that he is. His venom won't turn her. She's already been turned.

Although it perplexes the Cullens that she should have actual hunger, Bella continues to eat, relishing in the explosion of spices on her tongue as she devours the blood-based recipes that she's been cooking in greater quantity for months. The hunger isn't as consistent as it was before she was bitten, coming every other day or so, but at least she and Esme have something new to bond over. Esme had missed cooking, resuming with an ease the rivals Bella's as they work the stove and kitchen knives in tandem. The refrigerator in the Cullen household begins to resemble the one Bella kept at the Swan house - with the exception of the fact that meat and blood from the butchers is no longer fresh enough for Bella's pallet.

Edward hunts for her, bringing back fresh kills of deer and rabbits and duck, preparing the meat himself and collecting blood into various steel thermoses. He takes the duty seriously, seeing as how they are unsure if Bella can hunt for herself - or rather, if Bella could hunt _animals_ by herself. She's more than able enough to subdue a human for feeding, but that is not the Cullen way and it is now how Bella wants to live.

Emmett often tags along when Edward hunts for her, entertained by this new aspect of the routine in the coven. "Reminds me of my human days," he announces upon one return, clapping Edward on the back with a wily grin. "Besides, it's a good thing I'm there. Can't imagine Eddie-boy did a lot of hunting when he was getting an _education_ in Chi-town, right?"

"I've hunted more than enough since then," Edward grouses.

Emmett's laugh is booming. "Sure you have, city boy!"

But despite Emmett's bodacious attitude, Bella knows that _Edward_ is the hunter - as is his apparent right as her mate. Maybe his kills taste better for that reason. She does know that it soothes something in Edward to do this for her, some instinct that his mind flutters around each time they meet hands on his return to the house.

Sight is the most useful, though also the most difficult to test.

Before, Bella had perfect vision, or at least she'd thought it was perfect until she opened her eyes in this new world and suddenly saw details that were entirely blind to the human eye. But it was hard to qualify how much better her vision had become. Sound and taste were so obvious - she only had to humor Carlisle's hearing tests and the improvement in her taste sensory was self-evident. Sight forces her out of the house with Carlisle and Rosalie, spending a good chunk of time calling out letters from a dozen sight-boards as Rosalie runs further and further away and Carlisle keeps the measure of distance.

"Definitely enhanced," he decides, writing copious notes into a leather-bound book as he walks inside. He has certainly made a science experiment of this change and Bella doesn't mind.

She's getting answers, slowly but surely. She turns to Rosalie, eyeing the black-and-white poster boards held in her hands. "Enhanced," she agrees, catching Rosalie's eye. "But not like yours. What should I be seeing?"

Rosalie describes in complete detail the parts of the world that are still beyond Bella's reach - the sparkle of dust-motes in the air, for one, which apparently catch light and dance in enough interesting patterns to capture a vampire's attention. Bella doesn't see them and she's glad. Her vision is phenomenal now, but it honestly sounds _awful_ to have vision vampire-good, almost as bad as being able to hear traffic on the highway even as far as the Cullen house is into the woods. She's glad her hearing isn't that good, too.

Scent is the most interesting - and second only to taste as far as she is concerned.

Her favorite scent is Edward's, all musk and brown sugar and heady enough to make her head spin each time they kiss for long enough that she has to pull back and catch her breath. There's a spot right in the crook of his neck where his scent is so _concentrated_ \- she can't get enough of it. She tries to carry his scent on her at all times; it's easiest to simply wear his sweaters and cardigans and she must be driving Alice mad with her refusal to wear anything that Edward hasn't donned beforehand. Bella doesn't _care_ , though. When Edward is away - at school to keep up the charade or out hunting - it eases the knot of tension that blooms with his departure if she can just catch his scent.

None of the Cullens make her feel that this is odd, though. It was a common occurrence among mates and, as it turns out, wholly expected for a newly-turned vampire - _any_ newly-turned vampire - to fixate on a particular scent.

"Usually that scent is blood," Carlisle wryly notates. "But you continue to be a surprise at every turn, Bella."

This doesn't blunt the fact that the human nose is dull and weak. There is an entire world of scents that are nuanced enough that she can easily navigate the world with her eyes closed, relying only on hearing and scent to get around. It's so thrilling to understand _exactly_ what Edward meant when he said that his instincts were warring on the day they met - smell tells her so much about the world around her, speaks directly to newly-awakened instincts. Her nose is sensitive enough to differentiate between _elk_ and _deer_ and whether or not something is old or young or had been touched by a vampire or a human. She spends an entire day trying to decipher the different floral notes in a bouquet that Edward brings her.

Roses smell wonderful, but coffee smells delightful.

Touch is dynamic - more so than before.

Rough wood grain and glassy metals are only the start - there is and soft and grainy and such detection exact temperature detection that her showers have turned into something of an event. Her ability to detect pressure has expanded to the point where it takes hours to adjust to clothes that have different weights. It takes a mastery of the mind to accustom herself to the feel of her own hair tickling the back of her neck or the brush of air against her body as she moves. Her gift remains the same, just as quick to drawing the thoughts of the minds around her at the touch of her hand as before - the real adjustment there is learning how to ignore the texture of the skin beneath her hand, which she can now feel with incredible detail.

Edward's hand beneath her own helps in acclimation as she traces and re-traces the lines carved into his palm, teaching herself to compartmentalize touch all over again - and how to control the pressure of her touch, which has changed enough that she might easily bruise a human if she wasn't paying attention. Her strength hasn't increased to such a degree that the world might as well be putty under her fingers, but she has grown stronger, enough to be noticeable if she wasn't careful.

In many ways, the adjustment is difficult - but in others, it is as easy as breathing.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

This phone call is harder.

Bella cradles the phone in her hand while her free fingers fuss with the edge of the sage-colored sweater she has outright stolen from Edward's closet. It is far too big for her, the sleeves bunching around her wrists and tumbling over her fingers. Every time she moves, Edward's scent wafts into the air and the festering anxiety eases for the long moments it takes while the dial tone rings and rotates.

 _Click_ \- the phone is answered on the other line and Bella blurts out, "Hey, Dad."

"Bella!" Charlie exclaims and she is relieved that he doesn't sound any different to her new ears. He still sounds like _Dad_ and bedtime readings of _Guilliver's Travels_ and early-morning griping about the slow coffee pot and the rustle of air pushed between wiry whiskers on his upper lip. "Kid, how the hell are you?

Something eases in Bella, her shoulders relaxing as she sinks deeper into the down pillows stacked around the headboard of the thistle-and-eggplant bedding she and Esme had ordered. Her lips melt into a soft smile as she sighs and says, "I'm fine. I wish I could come home, but I'm still…finding my feet, I guess."

Charlie shuffles on the other end of the line. It sounds like he's sitting down in the desk chair he has at the station, a creaky old thing that squeals any time its rolled any further than an inch back and forth. "Yeah, that's what the behemoth told me," he chuckles, referring to Emmett's visit. "Of course, Rosalie had to clear up a few things, but I think I understand now. You're still my Bells, just with a better shelf life."

"Pretty much," she agrees, glad for his easy acceptance. "I'm sorry I didn't call earlier - some days are extremely disorienting. But I'm good, everything is better now. I…I still won't be able to go to school for a while, though. Not until we're sure I'm safe to be around. For humans, I mean."

"And that means me too, huh?"

"Yes."

A sigh. "You never were an easy kid, were you?

"Guess not," she murmurs. He doesn't mean to make her feel bad, not the way Renee's thoughtlessness might have been construed. With Charlie, it seems more like thoughtful musing, but it still reminds her that she had been a challenge to raise - now in more ways than one.

"Still planning on graduating, right?"

"Absolutely," she confirms, tugging on the ends of her hair.

The other end of the time line silent for a moment. Then Charlie clears his throat. "Well, alright. I guess if that's it -

"Actually!" Bella interject spurned on by a new sense of desperation. She's missed her father; she doesn't want their conversation to end so soon and so she launches into a more detailed explanation, pushing past the awkwardness she feels at talking for so long. "Actually, Dad, I'm keeping up with schoolwork. You know that Carlisle wrote that note claiming that I had pneumonia - well, Alice is collecting my assignments and dropping them off everyday, so I'm not falling behind. And I have a few very reliable resources at here if I get stuck. Rosalie should teach Physics, she's so smart, Dad…"

And so it goes, a new piece of her day - a phone call with Charlie.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

As the days in March continue to pass in chunks of nights were no sleep is needed and days where no food is required, Bella's throat continues to ache. Her jaw continues to throb.

Her heart still beats - one pulse a minute.

But sometimes when the dryness of her throat really sets in, it feels like her heart beats weaker, a token protest of her body because she is denying it something.

Bella thinks she knows, but it doesn't seem urgent.

She can cope _without_ it. Can't she?

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _This is me_ , she thinks as she stares at the reflection in the mirror.

Three weeks into the month and Bella still startles at the person she sees in the mirror - still trying to reconcile all the changes that are by themselves rather subtle but are as a whole a different degree of _new_. Honestly, she's getting tired of shedding her clothes to take a shower and just stopping, taken aback each time by the change wrought by vampire venom.

She's taking sage advice offered by Esme, who had experienced a similar series of disconcerted moments after her own change.

Bella shores up her courage, then drops the silky plum robe from her shoulders, watching the fabric pool around her slender ankles before dragging her eyes up the reflection in the floor-length mirror, cataloguing each change and reconciling them with the self-image she has always carried of herself. Before the bite, Bella had been pretty - a natural, unassuming sort of pretty that lent itself well to low-maintenance attention to her appearance. She hadn't ever put much stock into the way she looked. She wasn't _plain_ \- she didn't see herself that way - but she wasn't overly-concerned with anything outside of her books.

Now, though, she's undeniably striking. _Snow White_ , she muses to her reflection.

Her skin tone had lost some of its color, but she has kept a smattering of freckles and a few beauty marks; no longer peaches-and-cream, her complexion is milky, a dash of faint carnation-pink blush staining her cheeks, her lips plump and bee-stung and a fetching shade of cerise. High cheekbones now absent of lingering baby-fat, dimpled cheeks that made her smile more impish than wry, a gracile jaw and narrow chin; slender neck sloping to diminutive shoulders; her bearing slender, but rounded with soft feminine curves at her breasts and hips; the delicate bones of her ankles and wrists and knees and collarbones all lending themselves to a false appearance of frailty. She has grown taller, maybe a half-inch, and her hair is longer, still espresso-dark, but shining down to her hips rather than the dip of her spine. Her eyes are still that mossy shade of green, winged with sooty curling lashes - though now, they darken in her hunger to deep viridian and lighten to a vivid honeydew green and all the shades that are between.

Physically, she might be fifteen-and-a-half, but she could easily pass for seventeen - older, if she used the same tools the Cullens used to age themselves, like make-up and clothing. Even tiny, pixie-like Alice can dress herself to appear at least nineteen. Bella will have no trouble playing the age game along with the rest of the immortal race. In any case, the bite seemed to have sped up the rest of her physical development, a possible quirk of being a hybrid.

Privately, she thinks that's why the venom hurt so badly - not only was it fixing her injury and her imperfections, but it was also accelerating the final stages of her growth. If she'd been able to reach the physical age of seventeen, she _knows_ she would look the same as she does now. The bite had only gotten her there sooner.

She sweeps her hands over her body, twisting in the mirror to see herself from every angle - committing it all to memory.

 _This is what I look like_ , she tells herself firmly, pulling her hair over one shoulder, nodding at the upturned smile in the mirror.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella's body is now incredibly efficient - to the point that even with a semi-regular diet, the only waste she expels is urine. Her face burns just recalling that conversation with Carlisle. She can't decide whether it is a blessing or a curse that he is so thoroughly fascinated with her new physiology. A blessing, she supposes, for without Carlisle's great scientific mind, they would have no idea as to how best approach a theory to explain what has happened.

"Are you at all familiar with the diathesis-stress model?" he asks one day after their regular check-up. Carlisle was keeping a detailed journal of her alterations after the bite and steadily tracking any new developments. So far, her temperature has remained elevated and she hasn't shown any signs of overt strength and speed, but he hasn't discounted the possibility of any of these things changing.

Bella shakes her head, then listens with rapt attention as Carlisle launches into an explanation of what the _diathesis-stress model_ is; essentially, it is a theory in psychology that tries to explain the development of psychological disorders in terms of pre-dispositions and dual-risk factors. _Diathesis_ is the genetic inheritability of a disorder, which increases the vulnerability of a disorder developing, while the _stress_ part of the theory is to account for life-experiences and traumatic events that increase the likelihood of developing a disorder.

"For you," Carlisle says as he winds and unwinds his stethoscope, his excitement with the theory visibly growing. "I posit that you were already genetically predisposed to vampirism and that the bite acted as a stressor to a full manifestation."

"So, you're saying that vampirism is a disease?"

He sits on the edge of his desk. "In a way, yes. I've studied the way venom attacks human cells and it is not at all unlike how cancer cells mutate - the difference is negligible, all things considered. In your case, my theory is that along with the diathesis-stress, hybrids have a secondary pituitary gland attached to the hypothalamus which remains inactive until introduced to a catalyst agent, such as the natural maturation of the gland, which matures slower with each successive generation - when your father's aging stopped, for example - or by the introduction of pure venom into the bloodstream."

Bella blinks. "Just a theory, though?"

"A very well-educated guess," he corrects with a smile. "A simple CT scan, perhaps an fMRI, would prove the existence of that second pituitary, but I don't think it's necessary at the moment. Would you like some reading material to familiarize yourself with the theory?"

Bella nods, holding her hands out for a stack of medical journals that Carlisle had already had the foresight to collect, along with several texts and additional reading recommendations to further her knowledge. It was kind of funny, actually. Hadn't she wanted to explore the medical field before all of this started?

Now, it seems like she has eternity to be just as proficient as Carlisle Cullen.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella suddenly has a lot of time to fill - the hours when she would normally be sleeping have diminished by quite a lot and with being unable to attend classes, Bella develops cabin fever. It's easier on the weekends, when everyone is home from school, than it is on the weekdays - not that she doesn't adore Esme's company, but both she and Esme are naturally reticent and the silence of the huge house is deafening when the weather isn't making Bella duck for cover.

The Cullens play games - or, to be more precise, everyone except for Alice and Edward play games. Apparently, Alice and Edward are such notorious cheats that they are only allowed to play each other to level the playing field unless it is a game of chance. Some of the other complex games are banned from the house as well. Much to her amusement, Jasper is much too competitive for Risk, Rosalie is positively savage in Monopoly, and sweet Esme shamelessly counts cards. Emmett is another story entirely. He enjoys more physical games, like Jenga and Twister, but he also gets so into them that Bella is unperturbed to locate several of the same games in unopened boxes stacked in one of the hall closets. It seems like the only Cullen in the house who plays games by the rules and is mindful of his strength is Carlisle, though unsurprisingly, he goes missing any time games are mentioned - even in passing.

Bella takes to playing chess with Jasper, which is rare for him. As she soon finds out, Jasper's competitive streak does not end with Risk and he is a very seasoned chess player - a grand master, even. He absolutely squashes her the first time they play and while Bella knows that she is a well-rounded player of the game, she takes an entire weekend to read-up on chess strategies.

The next time she plays Jasper, _she_ trounces _him_.

Emmett does the gloating for her. "Jazz! I can't believe you let a _little girl_ beat you!"

Jasper sends out a wave of soul-crushing depression toward Emmett as a retort, his lips pressed together as he resets all the pieces on the board with vampire-speed. "Again," he demands, easing up on his gift as he waits for Bella to focus back on the checkered board. "I'll be white this time."

"If you think that will help," she murmurs and from across the room, Edward's laughter and Alice's tinkling giggle fill the air. Even Rose snorts, flipping through a car magazine with serenity.

Their next game is a stalemate - and so is the next after that.

Chess with Jasper becomes another new tradition.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Aro's sense of humor is quite the sight to behold, especially when Bella comes downstairs in late March to find a large box sitting on the kitchen table - full of vampire novels. There's a _lot_ of Anne Rice.

 _Granddaughter,_

 _To add to your collection in the hopes that these books will provide much-needed entertainment. It is always amusing to see how close the humans come to guessing right about the particulars of our existence._

 _Also, please note that I am sending Mele back to you very soon. She will be able to assist in your adjustment far better than your well-meaning Cullens, I believe._

 _My eternal heart,_

 _Aro_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The last week of March is sunny, which means that none of the Cullen brood are in school. The boys take off for an extended hunting trip over the latter half of the week - though Edward does so reluctantly until she assures him that she'll be _fine_ as long as it doesn't suddenly rain. He makes Alice promise to call him if the weather takes a turn before Emmett drags him out of the back door at high velocity, Jasper and Carlisle laughing as they follow.

Alice, of course, takes the opportunity for another spa day, which is now more unnecessary than ever. Bella's apathy for nail care grows into an extreme distaste once the acrid sting of acetone meets her improved olfactory senses. She actually flinches when Alice opens the bottle of polish remover and scowls the entire time it takes for iris-blue nail polish to dry. Thankfully, other things that Alice insists on - face masks and deep-conditioners and sugar-salty body scrubs - are much more agreeable, if not less jarring to acclimate to. Bella is actually glad that Alice had insisted on re-introducing Bella to the luxury of pampering; she can't imagine giving Emmett that type of fodder for future mockery if he heard her actually _sneeze_ at all the new scents swamping the pristine bathroom. It's bad enough that Rosalie snorts indelicately.

Once Alice has had her fun, there are still three more days to fill before the return of the other half of the coven. Bella divides the days equally, intent of giving her new family the fullest of her attention as equally as possible. She wants to bond with them - and it is a somewhat odd feeling, as Bella had never wanted to bond with any of her peers before. Perhaps because they were _human_ \- and the Cullens are not. They are easier for her to connect to, even with as radically different as all the personalities are.

On the second day, she tails Rosalie into the garage and does her best to keep up with the mechanical intensity that the statuesque vampire delves into with little-to-no explanation; that night, she retires to her room with yet another stack of back-issue magazines and a few books on engineering, much to Rosalie's satisfaction. She stacks Rosalie's contribution to her education next to Carlisle's, genuinely relieved to have such complex subjects to occupy her mind.

On the third day, she drags Esme into the kitchen with a laptop tucked beneath her arm and together, they learn the baking recipes that Esme used during her human days. Bella isn't a baker - her sweet tooth extends only as far as chocolate is concerned, honestly - but Esme is and between the two of them, they do enough batches of cookies, muffins, and scones that the homeless shelters in Seattle will be set for at least a full week.

Bella sleeps that night, an event made a bit more difficult by Edward's absence from her side. She has grown so used to the weight of his body dipping the other side of the mattress that she tosses for hours, tiredly punching pillows that still carry his scent before falling into a restless sleep. She actually wakes up groggy, shuffling out of her room and across to the bathroom with her mind fuzzy, senses buzzing and slow. She doesn't realize that the boys have returned a day early until she emerges from the bathroom at the same moment that Edward clears the last step on their floor of the house.

"Bella," he greets, then grimaces as his appearance registers. "Ah, Emmett's an idiot-"

He's an absolute _mess_ , his bronze hair mussed, clothes ripped with the distinctive mark of claws and dirt, and half of his face smeared with still-drying blood that has dripped down the side of his neck -

And Bella's mind just _trips_ over itself.

Everything is in sudden high-definition - even more than before - and with a speed that is undeniably vampire, Bella has snapped over to Edward's side, her hands pushing against his chest with adrenaline-buffed strength until his back collides with the wall behind him. He opens his mouth, surely to question her, but she doesn't give him a chance, simply sliding her hands up the sides of his neck, curving over his jaw and around the back of his head to pull his mouth against her own.

Cinnamon and salt and iron explodes on her tongue. She breathes him in, his mouth opening beneath hers with a sense of urgency as she tilts her head to get a better angle -

And with his hands firm on her hips, Bella's back meets the wall as Edward hunches over her, crowding her space with his delicious taste and scent and _feel_ \- Bella breaks away, gasping from the ardor, dropping her head back to allow her mate access to the sensitive skin behind her ear. Her heart throbs between them, heavy and hot. Her fingers are tangled in his wild hair, his hands creeping up the curve of her spine with firm, heavy caresses that ignite the molten heat behind her naval. She might say his name when he nips the corner of her jaw. He might growl in return.

It doesn't matter. All there is in the world is heat and _Edward_ -

Her lips return to his, eager and open to the exploration of his tongue and receptive to the sugary-sweetness of his venom. Bella's body sings, her pulse jumping at the next beat of her heart, breath stolen once again from her lungs. She pulls away again, chest heaving and brushing against his, but this time she directs her swollen lips against the sharp edge of his jaw.

Her lips meet the blood-stained flesh on his cheek - and her breath catches as the taste zings through her senses. Bella keens at the taste, following it to the hinge of his jaw, laving her tongue over the solid column of his throat to catch the stray drops of - of _mountain lion_ -

Edward groans, hips stuttering forward as she closes her mouth over his neck just shy of his Adam's apple, searching for the next taste of his last kill. Her jaw aches - her _teeth_ ache - her throat is so dry -

Bella bites, sinking her teeth deep into the tenderness of Edward's throat -

Edward stills for a moment that feels like forever and then the hand that had been tracing the line of her spine swiftly moves upward, curving over the nape of her neck. She thinks that he's about to pull her away, but instead Edward applies pressure. Inviting her bite.

Her eyes flutter closed and she sucks, nerves dancing at the combination of fresh blood and venom that coats his veins. She whimpers at the taste, undulating against her mate as he presses closer to her, the fingers of his free hand carving deep gouges into the wall behind her head as he pants -

And she would think that she was hurting him, except that Bella's gift fired up - and there are no barriers between their minds. As much as this act, this bite, this consumption is soothing the ache in her throat, it is satisfying an instinct in Edward, as well. Her bite is _ecstasy_ to him - it is evidence of her claim, something that he plans to return, but more than that, it is sustaining her.

They both recognize that _this_ is part of her new nature - and there is such pleasure in it that it cannot be something bad, something taboo. The magnetism between their bodies is electric. They are both undeniably aroused by the bite, evidenced by the new awareness they have of their bodies even as Edward tilts his hips away, even as Bella squeezes her thighs together. They are _mates_ \- rules of propriety don't matter right now. Had they ever mattered before? What was holding them back? Marriage? She would marry him right now if he only asked.

She slips her teeth - really, just the two incisors, which no longer ache and which she can feel retract minutely - from his neck, lapping at the thin rivets that paint his skin until her puncture marks heal, leaving a faint sheen of scar tissue that sates the instinct to mark her territory.

Bella pulls back, meeting Edward's dark eyes with her own, still licking his taste off her lips, her face flushed with excitement, body shivering in anticipation. His chest rumbles in response to the sight and she tilts her chin up, intent on meeting his lips again -

But then he cocks his head, brow furrowing in frustration. "Mele has arrived," he announces breathlessly.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is March.

* * *

 **A/N: Well. That happened. So….*tap-dances to exit stage left***

 **To say that I struggled with this chapter would be an understatement. I had a huge moment of "Oh, God, I bit off so much more than I can chew" but a few wise friends guided me through it and here we are, ready to move onto April with a new element to the story and other elements still to be answered. If you're wondering about where Mele is and what's up with Bella's power and what that last scene was all about - chill. The April chapter will answer all of those questions.**

 **I ate an entire bag of chocolate-covered peanuts, guys. I really did. It was a small bag, but still.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupakeriot**


	11. ten: april

**ten**

 **april**

* * *

 **April, April**

 **Laugh thy girlish laughter**

 **Then the moment after,**

 **Weep thy girlish tears.**

 **\- - - Sir William Watson**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Mele has arrived_.

The words echo through her mind in instant replay - and it takes a few precious seconds for her to understand why that information should matter at all when Edward's blood and venom are still mingling thickly on her tongue or why she should care about anything but the firm line of her mate's body against her own.

Mele who? Why has she come? She should _go_ \- leave Bella and Edward in peace while they acquaint themselves with each other's bodies -

And then her synapses realign, her ability to reason returns, and she inhales sharply, rocking back down onto the flat of her feet. Her head is spinning from Edward's scent, still heady and blood-swathed and completely distracting. She's glad when Edward clears his throat and takes a small step backward, extracting his hand from the drywall behind her. He wipes the dust off on the seat of his jeans, glancing at her beneath his lashes with a sheepish smile as blood rushes into her cheeks.

Oh, but they had gotten _so_ out of control just now, hadn't they? Instincts that overwhelmed _everything_ , that were so visceral and absolute that it was beyond thought to even attempt to resist them. She'd never experienced anything like it, not even remotely. _Intense_ didn't even begin to cover it.

Bella brings her fingers up to her mouth, brushing over swollen flesh with averted eyes. "Sorry," she mumbles, shaking her head. "I don't know what came over me."

Edward rubs the back of his neck, his eyes still heavy. "I wasn't exactly complaining, love."

"But I…" she drops her voice, ducking her head. "I _bit_ you."

He grins boyishly. "Yes, you did."

She doesn't know why she expected him to be up-in-arms about the entire ordeal when it was so clear in the moment that Edward had very much enjoyed the feel of her mouth working against his throat, the cut of her teeth into his skin, the firm pull of her every sip. He'd cradled her head against him. He'd invited it. And now, he was bashful, radiating a sense of excitement that she can barely wrap her mind around.

Bella wants to reach forward, tangle their fingers together, and suss out why he's so agreeable to such a foreign event - surely an act that didn't happen between vampires very often, if at all, right? - but she can't. Mele has arrived, either by Alice's estimation or because she is within Edward's telepathic range.

She and Edward will have to shelve this conversation for a while longer. They must prioritize. She licks her lips, chasing his lingering taste. "You should shower," she says slowly, gesturing vaguely to the dirt and dried blood still crusting his clothes.

Edward tracks her movements as she edges toward her bedroom door, his eyes still onyx-dark even though he'd just hunted his favorite meal. Dark eyes because of _her_ and what they'd just done. How _thrilling_ -

 _No_ , she tells herself firmly. _Focus_.

Thankfully - but not coincidentally - Alice appears at the top of the stairs in the next moment, smiling brightly. "Oh, good! I'm so glad you've decided to - Edward!" Alice snaps her fingers in front of his face, causing him to blink as he jerks away, his dark eyes losing their utter focus on tracking Bella's slow retreat.

"Alice," he sighs.

"Now is not that time," she tells him, shoving him in the direction of his room. "Go, go. Shoo! Mele is two minutes away and it's really better for _you_ if Bella's scent isn't so thick-"

"Oh, my God," Bella mutters in embarrassment, covering her eyes with her hands. It had completely escaped her notice that she was in the _hallway_ , still in her pajamas, and involving herself in activities that are definitely better relegated to the bedroom. Never mind that a house full of vampires completely eliminated any possibility of privacy - _Emmett_ was never going to let them hear the end of it, she just knows it.

"And you!" Alice exclaims after ushering Edward into the bathroom across the hall, conceivably so he can speed through the shower. "Go get some clothes and come back here so I can twist your hair up so you can also wash that scent off. Really, you're so lucky that I had a vision to give us ample warning."

"Thanks, Alice," she responds with a blush, marching off to do as Alice orders with an extreme lack of protest. Alice has a point; Bella can't imagine what Aro might do if word reached him that Edward and Bella had been less than chaste, especially considering his reaction to Edward's brief presence in her bedroom in January.

By the time she returns to the hallway, Edward's bedroom door is already closed and the bathroom is free. Alice uses vampire-speed to pile Bella's long hair on top of her head, then jets off after advising Bella to go as fast as possible. Bella does as she is bid, not even bothering to adjust the scalding water temperature as she spreads pomegranate-almond scented suds over her body, scrubbing at her face furiously as she tries her best to banish her mortification - and calm the molten heat still shifting behind her navel. A part of her mind just can't get over the way her body sang beneath Edward's hands, even though his touch hadn't strayed to any place that was not decidedly neutral.

Had she once called their kisses incendiary? She didn't fully understand the word, apparently, because their chemistry was just so - _profound_.

 _Focus_ , she reminds herself, quickly drying water from her body and slipping into a marigold shift dress with a hem that brushes against her knees and an ivory-wheat marled cardigan of Edward's that is long enough to nearly meet the hem of her dress and provide welcome protection to her hands with overlong sleeves. She opens the bathroom door to an impatient Alice, who thrusts the golden-diamond Volturi pendant - with a newly-repaired chain - over Bella's head.

"You need shoes," Alice tells her. "Mele is waiting outside."

Bella goes back to her room, retrieving long ivory socks and her brown hiking boots, walking and trying to cover her feet at the same time. Her hurried actions result in a hop-skip motion across her bedroom floor and her shoulder leaning against the doorjamb as she fixes her laces, vividly aware of two sets of vampire eyes watching her every uncharacteristically clumsy moment. For his part, Edward is _unbelievably_ smug about her frazzled state, holding his head high to show off the two puncture scars sitting just to the side of his Adam's apple. She huffs at him. He hadn't even _tried_ to hide them with a turtleneck, or something - he's wearing a V-neck sweater, for goodness sake.

 _Boys_.

Bella ignores him resolutely as she lopes down the stairs after Alice - and she definitely does her best to tune out Emmett's gleeful teasing, which involves a lot of over-loud congratulations for Edward and overtly dramatic winks in her direction. Thank God for Rosalie and Jasper, who roll their eyes, and for Esme, who tucks Bella beneath her arm as Carlisle leads them all out the backdoor.

Mele is indeed waiting outside, once again barefoot, her bearing stoic with astounding persimmon eyes - the shade an indication that her diet consisted of traditional and vegetarian fare. Upon sighting Bella, she tilts her head and examines Bella with critical efficiency. Her eyes narrow infinitesimally and something in the set of her mouth expresses displeasure.

Bella isn't sure what she expects Mele to say, but it certainly isn't, "The time for indulgence is over. Your training shall begin immediately."

Stepping out from beneath Esme's arm, Bella asks, "What training?"

Mele remains placid, unmoored by the obvious confusion radiating from Bella and the rest of the Cullen coven. She shifts onto the balls of her feet, toes digging into moist dirt and undergrowth. "Training for your survival, _mtoto_. You will come with me, now. Alone," Mele adds pointedly. "By the order of Master Aro of the Volturi, you shall be trained to ensure your continued survival."

Bella frowns. "He didn't say anything when we last spoke."

Behind her, Edward makes a low sound of comprehension, the exhales heavily through his nose. "What Mele does not say is that Aro wants to be sure that your association with our family does not jeopardize your health," he explains.

"Again," Mele corrects him coolly. "You have already jeopardized her health once before and that will not stand. And for you, mind-reader, it is _Master_ Aro."

Edward's teeth click together as Carlisle glides forward, holding out a beseeching, calming hand. "If it is as Master Aro wishes," he acquiesces.

Mele dips her head in a single nod of acknowledgement, and then her gaze shifts back to Bella. Unblinking, she orders, "Come now _, mtoto_."

Seeing no way out of this _training_ \- but certainly gathering some opinion on its sudden ordinance - Bella nods and steps away from the Cullens, making a move to cross the river that divides the backyard of the Cullen home from the rest of the forest. But as she places her onto one of the protruding rocks jutting out of the river, intent on picking her way over the water, Mele whistles sharply and she pauses, looking up expectantly.

"You will jump or you will swim," she says mildly.

Bella's shoulders rise in incredulity. She can't possibly jump over the river as it is much too wide and she doesn't relish the idea of wading hip-deep into the rushing water. She looks over her shoulder, catching Edward's gaze. His arms are crossed over his chest as he watches the scene with thinly-veiled irritation, but he nods at her, as if in encouragement. Bella sighs, setting her jaw, preparing to wade into the river.

But Carlisle's voice stops her. "Bella, wait," he calls. "Try jumping."

His scientific tone, something with which she was now familiar, catches her by surprise. "What?"

Carlisle smiles faintly. "I have another theory."

"You know," she tells them all with a note of ire. "I haven't agreed to this _at all_. I should call Grandfather right now and demand to know why he would possibly think any of this nonsense is a good idea! I thought he was updated on all of the traits I display?"

"Just try, Bella," he encourages, not phased in the slightest by her tone, similarly to Mele. It must be a trait that comes with being an older vampire, this ability to not let anything bother them.

She's not proud of it, but she huffs and stomps backward a few paces - and then actually takes Emmett's advice that she try for a running start - before she trots forward and uses her leg muscles to push her off the ground. Predictably, she sloshes water over herself as she lands _in_ the river -

But not so predictably? She only misses the other side of the river by a clear six inches.

Bella turns swiftly, eyeing how much of the river she'd jumped over with wide eyes, her mouth dropped open in slight astonishment. She looks to Carlisle, who is visibly excited by this new development - because that display of physical prowess certainly _was_ new - or was it, considering that she'd manhandled Edward into a wall not fifteen minutes earlier?

"You have been coddled, _mtoto_ , and that stops right now," declares Mele, drawing Bella's attention away from the Cullens. Mele holds out her hand. "We have much work to do. Show me your memories."

At that is how April begins for Bella - with a slew of new discoveries about the new capabilities that will define the rest of her life.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Grandfather Aro,_

 _I am sure you will be pleased to note that Mele has arrived to Washington safely - and I am sure you will be thrilled to know that she has not delayed in beginning my training - rather, my acclimatization - to this life in the slightest. And while I appreciate your desire to ensure that I am not beholden to any one to ensure my continued safety, I'm sure you will understand that I am a bit irked by the suddenness of this development._

 _Grandfather, honestly. Could you not have told me beforehand what you had planned? Or was it a calculated risk on your part? I need not remind you that I am not a pawn in your games - Grandmother, I am certain, will do that at my behest, should I enlighten her to your heavy-handedness._

 _That said, I am - surprisingly - enjoying this training and the trainer you have enlisted for me. It is a welcome distraction to the new hours in my day that are left free. While it is difficult to estimate my progress based solely on Mele's apparent approval, I am confident enough to state that as a new race of vampire, I and all other hybrids are more than adequate in keeping with the prowess of full-vampires. We have an advantage that I believe Uncle Caius will appreciate; my ability to pass as fully-human will no doubt excite the possibility of blending the human and vampire societies seamlessly, as you have no doubt planned._

 _Pertaining to my schooling, I have successfully learned Italian - my new interest lies in learning Modern Greek, and from there, Ancient Greek. I hope to be proficient enough in the modern form to converse with you over the summer. Perhaps you can instruct me in the nuance of the older form?_

 _All my love,_

 _Your Granddaughter Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

If Bella had thought that acclimating to her newly enhanced senses was difficult, then she had seriously misunderstood the meaning of the word - because with Mele comes the unerring sensation of jumping straight from the frying pan and into the fire.

Mele does not cut her any slack. There is no sympathy in the way that Mele pushes Bella, merciless and unmoved by Bella's hesitation as each new task is placed before her. Mele is pitiless, always demanding more and better and faster and so rarely offering an encouraging word. If Bella does well once, then she is expected to repeat those results until every time she performs an action is _perfect_.

It's very different from the gentle way that Edward had soothed her through the adjustment the month before, or the empathy Carlisle extended as he examined her after Mele's training has left Bella slicked in sweat and covered in mud-splatters.

Mele had been right. The Cullens _did_ coddle her.

That drove Bella more than anything else - she now had a burning desire to not only perform well, but to prove Mele wrong. Bella was not mollycoddled. She _wasn't_.

Learning the limitations of her new body - which was the prime directive of Mele's training - was a study in Bella's own tenacity. Before the bite, she hadn't been clumsy, but she also hadn't been inclined toward physical activity. She was a bookworm and happiest when she was far, far away from anything resembling kinetic movement. The most Bella had ever done was walk, and even then, her walks were more similar to meandering in the right direction with her nose buried in a book. It becomes immediately clear that Bella's propensity for _that_ had died along with the bite. Mele made no bones about the fact that Bella _would_ be as strong and as fast as the average vampire.

Bella was doubtful - her only instance of anything remotely like vampire speed or strength happened on the third floor - but her doubts are quieted by the way she leaped across the river, an action she was expected to perform again and again and again until she no longer splashed, until she no longer needed a running start.

As it turns out, hybrids did not _obviously_ display vampiric strength or speed. However, that didn't mean that hybrids were lacking in those areas; rather, as per Carlisle's new theory, the secondary pituitary resting at the base of her hypothalamus interacted directly with her sympathetic nervous system in igniting immediate disbursement of adrenaline that could be used, at will, to accommodate situations that called for physical vampiric abilities. Or more simply: for full vampires, physical attributes were involuntary and for hybrids, physical attributes were voluntary. It was the difference between blinking and winking and decidedly contrary to Bella's natural inclination toward physical activity.

And - of course - Mele couldn't care less about the scientific theory that Bella and Carlisle traded. All Mele cared about was that Bella learned full command over her body as quick as possible.

For that to be possible, Bella's days for the first two weeks in April are largely spent in the forest as she re-learns how to run and jump; as she holds her breath in the river until her lungs feel like they burst; as she holds statue-still for hours and hours with her feet falling asleep beneath her; as she puts her senses to work and learns how to hunt, to track, to kill; as she lifts weights that defy human capabilities; as she learns to understand her new body.

And then, once Mele is satisfied that Bella can keep up with vampire acrobatics, Bella stays in her trial by fire and learns the very basics of self-defense - all at vampire levels, all done by experience rather than instruction, and all designed, she's almost sure, to push her to the absolute brink.

"Again," Mele commands, implacable as she returns to the stance that had knocked Bella flat on her back.

Knowing that she is expected to be as fast as possible, her heart thudding hotly in her chest with a singular pulse, Bella blurs back into position, sliding her bare feet against the forest floor, her arms brought up with her palms open, ready to try - yet again - to block Mele's attack.

Mele's foot flashes forward. Bella successfully blocks, but fails to see the edge of Mele's elbow as the first attack slips seamlessly into the second.

Bella groans as her shoulders skid against the damp grass, the top of her head butting against the foot of a tree that she had been able to climb to the top of the day before. Bella leans up on her elbows, panting in exhaustion. "Let me guess," she mutters, rolling back onto her feet. "Again?"

Mele nods sharply.

And so it goes.

On and on - constant defeats, repeated set-backs, impossible-to-reach goals. Mele's standards - which, honestly, are also Aro's standards - are on a platform so high that Bella can't even _see_ an end in sight. It feels hopeless. She could never measure up to a full-vampire. She's at a disadvantage.

Until, one day, she isn't. Suddenly, it all clicks - the way her entire body moves is muscle memory, bereft of balking, absent of miniscule hesitation as she waits for adrenaline to course through her bloodstream. One day toward the middle of April, Bella moves before she thinks and her body responds without her prompting. She simply _does_.

"Very good," Mele praises coolly on the day that she is finally outmaneuvered.

"I'll do it again," Bella responds, already moving with that unbelievable vampiric grace.

"Yes, I believe you will," Mele agrees.

And Bella _does_. Again and again and again. As good as a vampire - maybe even better.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Being in such close contact with someone for so many endless hours where skin-contact is utterly unavoidable ultimately means that Bella learns a lot about Mele.

She learns that Mele was turned by a British vampire that had been passing through her village, a sallow-faced man who'd been looking for a new play thing, a red-eyed _monster_ who'd been interested by the slave trade that had been all the rage. He'd done such unspeakable things to Mele, ripping her away from her family as surely as he ripped her mind from her body and her will from her soul - as surely as he'd ripped his teeth into her neck and made her a vampire with the intent of having a slave at his bidding for the rest of his eternal life.

Mele had killed him the moment she woke from the three days of burning and she had not looked back sense.

Her involvement with the Volturi was at _her_ terms - she'd always been very clear that she worked with Sulpicia, not with Aro, and that her watchful eye over the hybrids of Aro's line came with the implication that Mele would be free to take any actions she felt necessary to guard the secrets of the vampire world.

Mele was cold-hearted, yes, but her cool calculation was seasoned with a world-weariness, with scars that had never healed from the vampire who had tortured her for years - from the time she was a mere girl to the time where her body finally bloomed into womanhood. Her life had been dark; her eternal night even darker.

But she felt affection for the hybrids, and specifically for Bella - as fierce as it was remote.

And because of that, Bella does not hesitate whenever Mele demands her memories, whenever Mele continues to push Bella to the brink. Because Mele is really doing Bella a favor. Because Mele has detected something in Bella that needs more attention.

Because now it is Mele and Bella and Edward who know that Bella had done _something_ to James on that night - and because Mele would be the one to figure it out first.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Hey, Dad," Bella says, wincing internally at the awkward tone in her delivery.

"Bella! You're calling earlier than normal," Charlie notes on the other end of the line.

Bella frowns, blinking in confusion. "I am?" She looks at the analogue clock hanging on the wall with confusion, then belated realization once the time becomes apparent. "Oh. _Oh_ , Dad, I'm sorry. My schedule is all flipped around - Mele is unrelenting in exacting my limitations. I can call back later."

"No, this is fine, kid," Charlie says. He sounds wide awake for how late it is - probably working the night shift, then. "I'm guessing you called for a reason, though?"

"Yes. I - well, we - were wondering if you could come out to the Cullen house this weekend?"

"Don't see why not. I'll call Billy and tell him-"

"Actually, Dad," she interrupts, sighing loudly. "Could you bring Billy, too?"

Charlie hesitates, a silence followed by the sound of his hand rubbing over the whiskers on his cheeks. "You know how he feels about the Cullens, kid. What's this all about?"

"Mele and Carlisle agree that it's time to test my reaction to humans," she explains, tugging on her hair to vent her anxiety and glad that the Cullens are at least pretending to not listen to this conversation. "And it will be great to see you, Dad, but the thing is-"

"I'm not exactly human enough to be your guinea pig, huh?"

Her lips twitch at the sardonic tint to his tone. "Afraid not."

Charlie sighs. "I'll talk to Billy, but I can't make any promises."

"Thanks, Dad. Just - be sure to tell him that he's _completely_ safe from everyone here, including me even if my reaction isn't, you know, optimal," she says cautiously.

"I'll do that, Bells," Charlie replies, but he sounds confident - in _her_.

The nerves twisting around her stomach ease at her father's faith in her ability to be around a full-blooded human and she hangs up the phone with a genuine smile on her face.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"You don't have to pretend you're not exhausted, love," Edward says several minutes after she has lingered in the doorway of his bedroom, leaning heavily against the doorjamb with heavy eyes and, she's sure, a pallid complexion. She's been watching him write in a leather-bound music journal, content by the relaxed slope of his shoulders and the occasional twitch of his lips, as if he is listening to thoughts that are supremely entertaining. At the moment, Edward sits up on his black leather couch, pushing his journal away and holding his arms out in silent invitation.

"Actually, I do," Bella answers as she pushes away from the door and shuffles toward the couch, settling herself gratefully onto her mate's lap with her head cushioned on the rolling joint of his shoulder. His scent is soothing and _right in front of her nose_ , comforting enough that she is tempted to close her eyes. Resolutely, she keeps her eyes open. "It's part of Mele's training."

"Her goal is to make you collapse from fatigue?" Edward questions.

"Her goal is to determine how long I can stay awake sustained on only blood," she corrects. "And then her goal will be to determine how long I can stay awake sustained on only food."

"She's experimenting on you," he accuses with a frown, stroking the dip of her waist with tender concern.

"Yes, she is," Bella agrees, covering her mouth as her jaw cracks in a long, drawn-out yawn. "But it makes sense - I have to understand my limitations."

"I've heard that phrase too often over these last two weeks," he grumbles.

"You're so protective," she teases, kissing the hinge of his jaw.

Edward smiles down at her, topaz eyes smoldering. "Only natural, love, to desire to protect my heart."

She tangles her fingers in his hair in response, guiding their mouths together with a shiver down her spine. She is much more awake now under the attentions of her mate, his kisses as renewing as a breath of fresh air. Bella loses herself in the sensation of his lips against hers, shifting on his lap to straddle his hips just to be _that much_ closer to him. Edward encourages the motion, firmly cupping her hips as the breath in her lungs quickens.

"I have something to tell you," she murmurs between kisses.

Edward hums in acknowledgement, making to trail his lips down her neck, cool breath tickling her skin. With a great amount of effort, Bella makes space between their bodies, scooting backward on his lap a minuscule amount, face flushing as she encounters the unmistakable swell of his arousal trapped within his jeans. His eyes a dark as he tracks her movements, chest rising and falling beneath her hands as she skirts her open palms up the soft fabric of his shirt, then up the side of his neck to frame the sharp angle of his jaw between her fingers. The tips of her middle and index fingers brush against his temples, a place of particular sensitivity that she has discovered - there are certain zones on the body that open to psionic connection like Bella's much easier. The palm is one such place; the vulnerable nape of the neck is another; and the temples are the third. Her heart thuds as she applies more pressure against his temples, fascinated by the way his pupils expand at the increased connection between their minds.

She has been sending thoughts and memories for months, but what she is about to attempt is new, something that she had been thinking about idly during Mele's training sessions. Bella takes a deep breath and then _pushes_ all of her chest-bursting love directly into Edward's psyche. He inhales sharply, the chaotic clusters of his mind alight with the induction of her emotions.

"You are my life now," she declares solemnly.

It is more rare now when movement catches her off-guard, but Edward's sudden surge that twists their positions until she lays beneath the firm weight of his body is a complete surprise. Her hands have shifted to the back of his neck, holding on instinctively for the next bout of his vampire-speed, but it never comes. Instead, his lips crash against her own, the connection of their minds singing with a mutual love that is staggering.

If their love were a physical thing, it would crush gravity - it is that astounding.

Despite the coolness of Edward's body against the venom-fueled heat of her own, his kiss is searing and hot, setting her nerves on fire as her body pulses in a frightening ache so sweet between her thighs that it is nearly painful. Bella's breasts throb as her back arches, her body trying to remain in as much contact with her mate's as possible; she uses her arms to crush their chests together, her legs falling open wide enough that Edward is able to fit his hips snugly in the newly-created space. They both gasp at that first contact, shocked exhalations into open mouths, lips brushing together as they breathlessly try to understand - to chase - this new sensation.

One of her hands is still pressed to the nape of his neck - and through that connection, she can both feel how much he wants to move against her and how much he wants to respect her virtue. But perhaps more importantly, she can feel how both of those desires pale in comparison to his desire to declare them permanently before moving any further, and how frustrated he is with himself for not being able to move past his upbringing to give her this, to give her himself.

 _Agapi mou, I'm not going to ask you for something that you cannot give,_ she informs him serenely, shifting beneath his body to put at least some distance between them, hoping to cool the coals of their passion. In her movements, she ends up loosing the connection between their minds, her palm sliding against his clothed shoulder instead as she does her best to ignore the molten heat below her navel.

"Bella," he murmurs, sliding his lips over her cheekbone. Edward drops onto the couch beside her, heavy brows drawn over his eyes as he begins what will no doubt be quite the session of brooding.

She waits until she has her body under control before reaching for his hand, so much more broad and long-fingered than her own, as she sits up, tugging on his arm. _None of that self-incrimination_ , she chastises pointedly. "I still have to stay awake and, you know, I did come in here for a reason before you distracted me."

His expression shifts from moody to curious, the tenor of his mind reflecting the change in his mercurial bearing. "And what might that reason be, love?"

Her still-swollen lips spread into a wide smile as she drops his hand, prancing on light feet over to the shelf where he keeps his wide collection of vinyl records, cassette tapes, and CD's. "I'm here to steal your music," she tells him blithely. And then, upon a better look at his collection, she frowns. "Although, maybe I should start by organizing this…"

"You wouldn't dare," he says from right behind her, reaching over her shoulders to cage her against the shelf with his arms bracketing her on either side. His tone is playful, but shaded with the intensity of the minutes beforehand.

"And why not?" she challenges, leaning lightly against his chest. "I don't know how you could find anything in this mess. What have you organized it by? Year and then favorites within the year? No, no. _Edward_. This looks like…did you organize by _record label_?"

"That's a bit hypocritical, considering the way you organize your books," he points out. "Maybe I should go implement the Dewy Decimal system-"

She spins around, grinning up at him with bright eyes. "Message received! You have your chaos, and I have mine. Agreed?"

"Agreed," he smirks, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. "What were you looking for?"

"I have a song stuck in my head. I must have heard it on the radio," she says, brushing her fingers over his wrist to deliver the strumming guitar that had been swimming through her mind all day, a song that had sprung up completely out of the blue.

His eyes alight with recognition. "I have that album," he promises, pulling away and scoping out his shelves. "Silversun Pickups…Where did it go?"

She stifles a laugh. "At least I can _find_ the books I'm looking for."

He shoots her a warning glare, the corners of his mouth turned up in amusement. "Don't mock."

"How can I not? You have perfect recall but you can't remember where to find _one_ CD-"

Edward lunges forward, his fingers curling mercilessly over her ribs. "You shouldn't have said that!"

Bella's shrieks of laughter fill the house.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Try as she might, Bella cannot help but think that the day Billy Black comes to the Cullen household is an auspicious one - it is sunny, the clean scent of rain still chasing the breeze, and she feels _good_. It helps that Alice is dancing around with a bright smile, bolstering Bella's assuredness that she would have control around her mostly-human father and his totally-human best friend. She's really hoping that she succeeds in this more easily than she found success in Mele's training - that her bloodlust would be negligible, unlike a newborn vampire's.

Hope, hope, hope.

 _You'll be fine, love_ , Edward directs toward her as he holds her hand. They are waiting on the front porch of the Cullen home for Charlie's cruiser to finish crawling the long, winding driveway. The sun shimmers off half of Edward's face, the rest of him hidden in shadow; Bella's skin glows pale and milk-bright in the sun, much more covert than the full-vampires around her.

Edward's reassurance is somewhat dampened by her knowledge that both Jasper and Emmett are waiting to react to her bloodlust in a split second - and by the knowledge that he is not only holding her hand to offer her comfort. Edward is their first warning system that all is not right in her reaction.

From the forest where she remains shrouded in the shade of a tall evergreen tree, Mele says baldly, "Prove that you are stronger than a newly reborn, _mtoto_."

Prove it. Right.

Bella exhales heavily when Charlie's cruiser pulls alongside the house, idling for a second while he seems to gauge the formation around her. Her lungs still as he opens the door and steps out of the car - waiting for Bella to move or for an explicit invitation, she isn't sure. She does know that they talked about the logistics before Billy felt comfortable coming this far into enemy territory.

Charlie is the first test. If Bella does well with her father, then Billy will get out of the cruiser. And if she does well with Billy, then she'll be allowed back at Forks High to finish out her school year and graduate and then go to college and - well, _live_ her life. And it all hinges on these pivotal moments, so - _no pressure, or anything_.

 _Breathe_ , Edward prompts.

Bella inhales, cringing as Charlie's scent filters through her senses - like cloves and pine soap and a sweet note that she knows represents his vampire heritage lurking somewhere in his body. She inhales again, waiting for her throat to burn or her teeth to ache, but nothing happens.

She laughs in relief. "Dad!" she calls, detangling from Edward and racing across the front yard, falling into her father's human-warm embrace in unrestrained glee. "It's so good to see you!"

Charlie kisses the top of her head. His voice is thick when he says, "Kid, you have no idea."

Bella lingers in her father's arms, soaking up the paternal affection that radiates from him like a flower soaks up the sun. She marvels at the absence of fire in her throat, at the way this is so easy. But she's still wary when Charlie pulls away and pops open the trunk for Billy's wheelchair, her fingers tangling together as Billy is transferred from the car and into the open air.

Edward blurs to her side, hands curled over her shoulders, ready to restrain at a moment's notice.

Billy's scent is less sweet - more savory, more…like _dinner_ , if Bella is being completely honest. She processes his scent with the cruiser between them, his dark, deep-set eyes watching for any sign that a vampire will attack him. Bella's throat is dry - she's thirsty - but it's not anything that she can't manage.

Bella's eyes water - venom and salty tears - as the relief hits her. Her smile is shaky as she offers a wave, the rest of the Cullen coven relaxing in the evidence of her lack of reaction to the potent stimuli of human blood. "Hi, Billy. Long time no see, right?"

This is a success - no doubt about it. She's in complete control.

Finally.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dearest Isabella,_

 _My, how you chide me! Precious, I must confess that very few individuals exist in this world who would dare to reproach any of my decisions - but you truly are my blood, darling Granddaughter, as you possess the fire and perhaps even the ruthlessness by which I am characterized. I extend my deepest apologies, however, if my "heavy-handedness" in any way offended your sensibilities. My thoughts were only in deference to your safety._

 _To your difficulty in assessing your progress based on Mele's reactions, I will assure you that by her daily briefings in your progress that you have indeed impressed her. Might you wonder how very difficult it is to impress that vampire? Even I am frequently found wanting in her estimation._

 _Thank you, precious, for boldly extending your comprehension of the tentative plans that have formed in my mind - I had not thought you picked up on those thoughts, but I suppose I must learn to not underestimate you. Caius and Marcus will indeed be pleased by your notations when I see fit to pass them along._

 _Finally, darling, I will be more than happy to teach you're the language I spoke in my youth. Nothing would be more pleasing._

 _My eternal heart,_

 _Aro_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella's return to school in the last week of April is done with as little fanfare as possible - after a weekend of moderately-messy hunting and a night of sleep on Sunday at the Swan household, she breezes into the administration office to reinstate her attendance with Mrs. Cope, slips seamlessly back into class discussions, and dutifully ignores the mild burn in her throat any time one of her human classmates comes a bit too close. It helps that she has at least one Cullen-Hale in each of her classes, with independent Greek Study and English notwithstanding. She trusts in the knowledge that they are each other's support systems every day and that it is not a burden to become her support system, too.

She has missed going to class almost as much as she has missed her room under Charlie's roof - there is, however, the notable exception that Charlie does not accost her for details about her prolonged absence the way that Jessica Stanley does at the first opportunity.

Bella _really_ should have expected it in retrospect.

"Bella! _Bella!_ Oh, my God! You're back!" Jessica cries from down the hall, rushing forward with her curls bouncing, the strong scent of bubble-gum perfume clogging Bella's nose immediately.

She tries not to wrinkle her nose, fighting a strong urge to sneeze. "Jessica," she manages as a greeting.

Jessica's blue eyes widen as she takes in the subtle changes Bella has undergone in her absence from school. "Gosh," she breathes as the freshmen group notice Jessica's diversion from normal routine and begin to cluster around her, all of them peering at Bella like she is the most fascinating thing in the world. " _I_ should get pneumonia. Bella, you look _amazing_!"

"Maybe she's allergic to her medication, like in _The House Bunny_ ," Lauren says meanly, rolling her eyes at Tyler's admonishing look.

Bella arches her brow - unimpressed by Lauren's attitude - and then turns back to Jessica with a sanguine smile. "It's good to be back," she says.

Jessica giggles. "You're the only girl I know who would actually _miss_ school!"

"What can I say?" Bella murmurs. "I'm unique."

 _If only they knew_ , she thinks as Jessica launches into her familiar, excited chatter.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is April

* * *

 **A/N: So many things! Have I been slow-burning you guys? Oops. (#sorrynotsorry) Just trying to observe canon a little bit!**

 **Re: The Fang Issue - So, everyone not named** _ **Isabella Swan**_ **are the traditional super Twivamps as we know and love/loathe them with all the SM bells and whistles that catapulted the series into fame (because let's be real, her nuance on these vampires is what kept people coming for the books that were oh-so-refreshing from the rest of the vampire mythology cluttering up Vampires A-Z). Bella, on the other hand, is hybrid and I'm** _ **so**_ **running wild with the freedom that allows me. How best to equate her? Well, if you're well-read, then you might cite Anne Rice, Stephen King, a little book called The Silver Kiss, and L.J. Smith's** _ **Night World**_ **series as a pretty good start, as all of these vampires are similarly difficult to kill and have fangs. If you're at all into anime, you might recognize some aspects of Saya from Blood+ (and even if you're not into anime, that series was** _**a-maz-ing**_ **and you should watch it) and Vampire Knight** _ **\- but most importantly**_ **, the cult-pop mangas of Chibi Vampire (or Karin, the anime-dub) and Crescent Moon (also read those if you can find them anywhere, because they're just straight-up awesome).** **For pop-culture, you might notice that I've borrowed some things from The Vampire Diaries, the entire Underworld series, and from Buffy - just, you know, Bella doesn't have a "game-face" a la the Buffy'verse. Or does she? Also, if you read my fic 'Blood', I'm definitely revisiting my favorite aspects of that series in terms of vampirism. The basic run down? Half Twivamp, half every other vamp in the world. Hybrid vampires** _ **are**_ **a new race; the idea is that it should be easier for them to mingle with the humans, which is why Bella can still eat and drink and blush and why she's warm, etc. Whatever. Does it really matter? The important part of this A/N is me telling you about all those amazing things in the world that involve vampirism. You should totally delve.**

 _ **Mtoto**_ **means "child" in Swahili, if you were wondering** _ **. Agapi mou**_ **, is modern Greek for "my love", which makes sense because Bella is done with Italian and embracing her Greek roots - now that she knows Aro is Greek, of course.** **No guarantees that I'm using either right, but I did my best to research them and my only secondary languages are vague German insults and the ability to bitch about smelly cats in French. So.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	12. eleven: may

**eleven**

 **may**

* * *

 **Hard is the heart that loved naught in May.**

 **\- - - Geoffrey Chaucer "The Romance of the Rose"**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Perhaps unconventionally, Bella's favorite advantage of her recent physiological improvements is not the ability to stay up for days without sleeping or finally be on a level playing field with the rest of the vampires in her life - rather, she most enjoys being able to read and walk at the same time without _actually_ paying attention to her surroundings. She no longer has to devote a conscious part of her mind to tracking where stairs and walls are as her senses and the increased competency of her mind keep track of those things by rote. Bella can just _read_ and it's wonderful even if Edward takes a strange pleasure in teasing her about it.

The night before had been one of her sleeping nights, a full four hours wrapped in the safety of her mate's arms while they both did their best to ignore the electricity sparking between them wherever their skin touched. She thinks Edward must have it harder - pardoning the pun, of course - because he does not have the reprieve of sleep. That and Bella had an awful habit of hitching her leg over his hip in her sleep and she has woken to more than one morning of bashful behavior as he eases away from her touch, trying his damnedest to respect the thin boundaries that they have erected - again, pardoning the pun.

Bella sighs as she enters the kitchen, setting her book on the counter. She'd just missed the entirety of the last poem, so distracted is she by Edward's lingering scent on her clothes, her hair. It's a good thing that he'd just left to go retrieve his Volvo because Bella has sex on the brain and just the thought of being that close to him made her teeth ache - along with a few choice other places.

Charlie has already left for the day, so Bella busies herself making her thermos of coffee, which is decidedly different from the coffee she drank a few months ago. Although the strength of the coffee has remained unchanged, she has taken to flavoring her black Columbian roast with blood from Edward's most recent kill. This morning is elk - not her favorite, but a welcome relief to the low burn in her throat. She's found that remaining moderately hydrated with an influx of lifeblood - a cup or so a day - managed the bloodlust wrought by attending high school. Bella is gratified that her ongoing caffeine addiction incorporates parts of her new diet so easily.

She goes to sit on the railing of the front porch, ankles crossed as she drinks and reads, turning pages while she waits for Edward to arrive. Inevitably, she becomes so absorbed in her book that she fails to realize that the Volvo has pulled up to the house until Edward's hands are bracketing her hips, his lips meeting her own in a darting kiss. She chases his lips as he pulls back with a low chuckle, tracing the edge of her book with a raised brow.

"Slyvia Plath? That's a bit…"

Bella rolls her eyes, balancing _The Bell Jar_ on the railing in favor of curling her hands around the nape of Edward's neck, thumb tapping against her bite mark on his throat. "Aside from the whole head-in-the-oven thing, she was a very misunderstood woman. Her work is sheer brilliance," Bella argues, applying pressure to his shoulders to reel him in.

"Is that so?"

He leans toward her willingly, tilting his chin upward slightly to make up for the reversal in their height difference; with Bella elevated by the rail, his nose is level with her chin, and she relishes in the advantage that gives her, allowing easier access to wrap her arms fully around his shoulders without strain. They exchange several long kisses, her knees parting just enough for him to step closer as the intensity ratchets - a releases a sub-vocal growl when she pulls his bottom lip between her teeth just a touch too hard, splitting his granite skin for a second, the venom-blood from the quick-healing cut jolting across her taste buds. She pulls back, licking her lips, and dives back in for a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses that set her on fire.

Her head is spinning by the time he drags himself away, hands white-knuckled around the railing as he breathes hard, eyes closed. Her heart thuds - once - in her chest, gaze lingering on the way his dark bronze lashes rest against the strong planes of his face. He's so beautiful. He is _hers_.

"We should go to school," he says after a moment, clearing his throat.

Bella smiles sweetly, so utterly charmed by him. If he could blush, she's sure his ears would be red; as it is, she still blushes enough for both of them. She slips off the railing, grabbing her thermos and her book while Edward retrieves her backpack. But before she gets into the Volvo, she stops in her tracks. "Hold on," she sighs. "I forgot to get the newspaper."

"I'll get it," he replies with a smirk. "It's the least I can do for distracting you so thoroughly."

She arches her brows while he jogs back to the front porch, reaching down for the folded issues of _The New York Times_ and _The Seattle Times_ that she had completely forgotten about that morning. "Actually, I think it was _me_ who distracted _you_ ," she counters glibly.

Her smile falls when he doesn't respond. He has gone vampire-still on the front porch, eyes zipping back and forth across the headline that she hasn't read yet, face slack of any emotion. It's incredibly disturbing.

"Edward?" she asks - and then her phone rings and she fishes it out of her pocket, eyes still riveted on her too-still mate, intent to dismiss the call. Only, it's Alice and Alice doesn't ever call without a reason. Bella blinks, then answers the phone, thumb passing over the glass screen. "Alice?"

 _"You and Edward need to come to the house_ ," Alice breathes on the other side.

Bella's brows furrow, but she nods slowly. "Alright. We'll be right there."

Alice hangs up without another word, presumably to make other calls to gather the rest of the Cullens back to homebase. Bella pockets her phone, then pops open the passenger door, settling herself in the seat as she waits for Edward to do the same. Even with whatever caught his attention in the newspaper, she knows that he'd heard the short conversation and would respond in time. And soon enough, Edward had blurred into the Volvo, newspapers flopping onto the center console as he puts the car into reverse and speeds off in the most direct route to the Cullen house.

Bella opens her mouth to ask what had taken him aback in such a bizarre manner - maybe even to ask what he thought Alice was calling them all away from school for - but her teeth click together as she catches sight of the headline that had obviously rendered him speechless.

 _SEATTLE SERIAL KILLER? Among A Rash Of Disappearances and Bloodless Murders A Pattern Has Emerged!_

Her stomach drops and she reaches for _The Seattle Times_ , spreading out the front matter and reading the article there, and then the continuation on the next page - absorbing all the details that the police were willing to release about the frightening string of violence riddling the streets of Seattle. The most striking detail, of course, is the conundrum of the state of the bodies that _are_ found. Each of them with their throats ripped out, bodies completely devoid of blood and no blood found at the scene. Her first thought is probably the same as Edward's - _vampire_.

Could one vampire do so much damage? Already ten unsolved disappearances, which the police think are just murders that don't have crime scenes yet, and a stunning thirty actual murders with the same or similar modus operandi. It seems _excessive_ for just one vampire - so, then, was it more than one?

The answer, she soon finds out, is a resounding _yes_.

In fact, the answer is worse then yes - the real explanation is _several newborns_ , which explains why there are just so many bodies. And worse than _several newborns_ is Jasper's grim explanation - delivered as he shakes the fisted copy of the newspaper above his head with dark eyes and pinched lips - that the newborns are probably created by one person, which is why the artless ripping of the throats is so consistent. One sire in Seattle was intent on creating an army.

Gathered in the Cullen living room with the rest of the coven, Bella's knees are weak when Alice appears at the foot of the stairs, her stare grave and only partially aware. "It's Victoria," she declares tonelessly.

A snarl bursts out of Edward's chest in response to the vision he has seen in Alice's mind. Bella hesitates for a moment, then curls her pinky around Edward's, plucking at the instant-reply of Alice's vision. She doesn't understand, at first, who Victoria is, not until she catches the fuzzy glimpse of her face that Alice had seen - cat-like crimson eyes and a riot of firebrand hair paired with a shaky uncertainty of reality that is vividly clear in her expression.

Victoria - the mate of James and the vampire who had declared war on the Cullen coven. Or, more precisely, on Edward and Bella, for it was his hands that had kick-started James' demise and Bella's blood that had tempted James' lust.

 _"A mate for a mate,"_ Victoria mutters to herself in the vision - and there is a flash of dozens of vampires with human-red eyes of the newly-turned - and the snarling curl of Victoria's mouth as she lunges at the whisper-thin images of Edward and Bella. Nothing about the vision is substantial, nothing except for Victoria's motivation.

Bella drops her hand with a shiver. "Are your visions always so-"

"I almost can't see her!" Alice wails.

"Wasn't she gifted?" Carlisle asks calmly, surveying the room.

Emmett, wrapped around Rosalie protectively from behind, says gruffly, "Had a hell of a time chasing her down, that's for sure."

"Evasion," Edward adds. "The gift of evasion. Victoria is only caught if she _wants_ to be caught - and she's fast."

Alice rubs at her temples. "She's giving me a headache. I don't think its intentional on her part, I don't believe that she means to interfere with my visions, but it also seems like she can't settle on a decision, either. Edward, do you think-"

He shakes his head. "If she's indecisive now, then that's new, probably a byproduct of James' death. Her mind was clear to me before."

Alice growls in frustration, delicate, fine-boned features screwed together tightly.

To Bella's surprise, however, Jasper doesn't rush to comfort his mate - that duty is left to Esme, who coaxes Alice to sit on the other end of the couch while Jasper begins to pace back and forth, spine rigidly straight, expression fierce. When he speaks, his words are clipped and authoritative, nothing at all like the soft-spoken Texan that Bella has come to view as her brother. This, she will come to understand, is a relic of his past, a part of his personality that he has pushed down - the Major has come to the call of duty.

"I know it ain't your way to go to war, Carlisle, and I respect that - but this ain't the time for pussyfoottin' with the safety of our family. I _will_ be takin' this bitch out before she can take me from mine," he declares boldly, raising his chin in invitation of defiance and looking for all the world like he would not hesitate to take _Carlisle_ out if the patriarch saw fit to stand in Jasper's way.

For the first time, Bella catches a glimpse of something that the tame vampires in her life have kept hidden - the beast that is within them all, the demon that thirsts for blood and violence, the monster waiting beneath the pretty surface. Does she have that, too? Is it strange that she hopes she does?

Carlisle's deliberation is incredibly short. He nods his head curtly. "Unfortunately, I do not see any other course of action. This vampire has already violated the sanctity of human life and has begun to draw attention from the human world. If we do not step in, then the Volturi will."

Mention of the Volturi focuses Bella's attention and she stands with her shoulders thrown back. "We need to tell Aro - before he finds out in another way. I will not hide this from my Grandfather, especially because it is _my blood_ that has caused all of this strife in the first place -"

"Bella," Edward frowns, skating his fingers over her clothed shoulder. "Love, it's not your fault -"

"But it _is_ ," she says. "Don't you see? You and the wolves killed James to protect me and I'm glad for it because I'm still here with you - but Victoria's actions are now my responsibility."

"Bella, no-"

"Isabella is right to take responsibility," says another voice, orotund and firm. Mele walks into the living room from the kitchen, Bella's ever-faithful teacher, her personal guard, drawn inside by their conversation. Mele's declaration draws a series of hisses from the Cullens, but she ignores them all, training her persimmon eyes steadfastly on Bella's face. "It is no less than what the princess of our world should do, _mtoto_ , and no more than Master Aro would expect of you."

Bella nods - in understanding, in agreement, in confirmation. Her place in the world is predetermined and for that reason, she does have a role to play that she cannot avoid. She is the only living descendant of one of the Kings of the Volturi and that means that it is her duty to care for the safety of their world in the place of her Grandfather - whether the Cullens accepted this did not dismiss the factual basis of the argument.

Once again - for the third time in the last ten months - Bella's world spins on its axis, realigning itself with a new normal that she can only assimilate to for fear of quailing under a new pressure.

"I'll make the call myself," she announces. "Carlisle, may I use your office?"

"Of course, Bella," he agrees serenely, ignoring the incredulous reaction of the rest of the Cullens.

Bella breathes deeply, centering herself before she moves toward the staircase, pausing with her foot on the bottom step. "Edward?"

"I'm here, love," he says from behind her, palm low on her back with just enough pressure to ground her feet firmly to the Earth.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _You don't have to do this_ , Edward thinks as they reach the privacy of Carlisle's office, his hands slipping down her wrists to lace their fingers together, his chest pressed against her back, nose in the crook of her neck.

He is doing is very best to ignore the swirl of thoughts a floor beneath them, but he doesn't have her ability to completely immerse himself into her mind. His telepathy is limited to only surface thoughts, and so it is Bella that pulls him deeper, bridging the gap between their mental spaces with a slow sigh, relaxing into his touch as much as she relaxes into the chaotic scape of his mind.

Her mate is anxious. He doesn't like the direction that she has just taken. The flare of protective concern washes over her like salty water, prickling as it dries into a weariness that is so unsuitable for him; Edward had done so much growing since he first met her, but even that much maturation cannot sway the immature urge he has to take her and hide her away from the world. He is so threatened by Victoria, but more so is he threatened by the idea that the Volturi would sink their ever-lasting claws into her.

His pain is her own and so she seeks to sooth him as best as she is able.

 _Edward…I know we never talked about it, but there was a time - once - when you had second thoughts about bringing me into your world, letting me in on the secret_ , she thinks, squeezing his hands as his mind trails after her, chasing the smoky ghost of her thought process with his fullest attention. _Only, it's not just your world. It's my world, too. It's been my world since I was born. And I have to believe that if I was made for you and you were made for me, then I was also made for this. Do you understand? It's part of my destiny - I've been part of the Volturi and I will be part of the Volturi. It's my birthright._

 _It is,_ he agrees reluctantly. _But that does not make it any easier to let you go-_

 _Who ever said anything about leaving?_ She interrupts. _Aro might have designs in that direction, but it's not what I want. I want you and this life. Wherever that is_.

 _Bella, in doing this, you must understand what conclusions will be drawn._

 _And they won't be erroneous conclusions, Edward,_ she tells him bluntly. _Because Mele is right - we might have been tap-dancing around it, but I am as close as it gets to being a princess in this world. I'm Aro's heir. This would have been something I had to do at some point and I have no issues in taking advantage of this station to help us fix this issue with Victoria before more lives are forfeit._

Edward marvels silently at her sensibility, but the moment is broken by Alice's voice chiming from downstairs.

"It's time," she says, still shaky from what Bella knows is a series of rapid-fire visions that kaleidoscope out of Alice's control.

Bella dials the satellite phone that rests atop Carlisle's desk, listening to the annoying trill of the dial-tone for several long, too-quiet moments. The entire family - and Mele - are listening in, utterly still so as to not miss a word. Part of her loathes the attention, but there is no other recourse. This isn't exactly news she wants to break in a letter and time is very much of the essence.

The other line finally clicks, Aro's jovial voice rolling directly into a winsome greeting. " _Ah, Carlisle, I did not think I would hear from you so soon-_ "

"Grandfather," she interjects smoothly.

" _Precious? To what do I owe this distinct pleasure_?" Aro asks, tone shifting to become cautious, edged with a danger that had kept him alive for three thousand years.

"I believe we have a problem," she says.

Aro sighs, long-suffering and irritated in equal turns. " _I dare say, I am growing to despise these phone calls, Granddaughter, for it seems that you never have any reason to call me until you are the bearer of displeasing news. I much prefer our letters._ "

"So do I," she admits before launching directly into the explanation of events in Seattle and Alice's predictions. She leaves nothing out, including every detail she recalls from the newspaper article verbatim, no matter how miniscule that detail might be. It could be important, maybe even vital to a decision made in Volterra, should it come to that. When she is done, outlining the issues with Alice's visions and Victoria's gifts and Jasper's theory - along with Jasper's intentions to cut down the threat as soon as possible - she holds her breath in her lungs, waiting for Aro to come to a decision.

Aro clicks his tongue, displeased. " _Darling, thank you for alerting me to this so quickly. As of yet, we have not heard of any issues in Seattle, but sometimes these matters are contained by covens in the area and we do not learn of them until years afterward. I must be frank and confess that it is disarming to be brought into the loop so quickly, for you must understand that covens do not seek Volturi aid unless it is a final option_."

"I had surmised as much," she replies dryly. It had been part of Edward's hesitation and she knew that Jasper felt similar compunctions. The Volturi were feared and respected - but mostly feared. It did not tend to bode well if their attention was brought to specific covens.

" _I must speak to my brothers about this, precious_ ," Aro says bleakly. " _It is unfortunately not a decision I am able to make without counsel, for there are many factors to consider. Until such time that I am able to deliver a consensus to you, I advise that you allow Major Whitlock and the Cullen coven to go about their plans._ "

"Understood, Grandfather."

" _I am pleased to hear, however, that you are taking your rightful place in our world_ ," he murmurs with a touch of satisfaction. " _Do take care of your self, my Granddaughter._ "

"I will," she promises, the call disconnecting in the next moment. But even as she promises that, she makes another promise to herself - that her loyalty would always be first to her mate and to the protection of human life.

It is a promise that Edward returns with a fierce kiss that sends her head spinning with lust and adoration.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

It's difficult to go to school the next day acting as if nothing is wrong - as if Bella hadn't just embraced a new place in the world, as if she didn't know what the violence in Seattle was about. It's even harder to sit in the guidance counselor's office and listen to the middle-aged man behind the over-clutter desk rattle off the colleges that had reached out to seek her admission for the fall semester. Universities Bella hadn't even applied to had gotten hold of her transcript and spontaneously offered scholarships and boarding in September.

"Consider these safety schools," Mr. Preet says with an awkward smile. "Have you heard from the places that you did apply to, Isabella?"

She nods placidly. Her acceptance letters had been hand-delivered by a gruffly-tearful Charlie in April and had been quite the topic in the Cullen household for a few days before Bella had put her foot down and announced that she would be deferring for another year - mostly to stop Edward from actually going through with his plan to test out of his senior year and bribe whatever college she selected to admit him, as well. _Absurd boy_.

"I'm deferring for a year," Bella relays blandly.

Mr. Preet's eyes widen, his hands shuffling the papers across his desk in apparent shock. "Miss Swan, are you quite sure that's wise? Even your safety schools have acceptance rates below the national average - very selective, I'm sure you understand -"

"I do understand, Mr. Preet, but I'm also sure that the Ivy Leagues will understand my desire to travel across Europe to enrich my world perspective," she says, easily presenting her cover story for the next year, a contingency plan that she'd intended to sow into the Forks gossip mill as soon as possible to explain, among other things, her potential extended absence after June. There was no telling how long she would be in Volterra. "Gap years aren't that uncommon, are they?"

"I suppose not," he replies. "I-I'll have to draft letters to all these schools - I didn't even know that Humboldt _did_ early admission…"

Bella contains her sigh. This is the absolute last topic she wants to discuss - what did it matter if, in the end, Bella would have an eternity to attend each of those universities? Maybe she should ask Charlie which school _he_ likes and decide like that. Of course, she would have to factor in year-round weather conditions because she's sure not even night classes would make it easier to attend _her_ previous dream school at Stanford.

Dartmouth, then? Or maybe Yale.

 _Oh, I can't even think about this until after this Victoria situation is dealt with_ , she thinks irritably.

And then there's the other consideration - her recent geopolitical move to embracing her birthright, which hasn't had any consequences yet, but which may also complicate the matter of her attending college. Aro didn't understand the concept of "playing human" in his castle in Volterra, but Bella hadn't yet given up hope that she could realign her life back on track, as if all this vampire drama had never derailed her goals.

She could and _would_ have it all - it was just a matter of maneuvering at this point.

Bella Swan is a patient girl - hybrid, whatever.

She sighs aloud this time, pasting on a wan smile as she stands, hoisting her backpack over her shoulder easily. "If that's all, Mr. Preet, I really should be getting to Physics."

He waves her off, frazzled by the sheer load of work he'd now have to do in turning down offers on her behalf for all those admissions. She thinks it might be the most excitement he's seen in his job for ages.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Everything is up in the air - and they are all waiting, breathless with anticipation and taut with tension, for _something_ to come crashing back down to the surface. Where is the other shoe when you want it to drop?

For now, it is in the days that tick over with continued reports of murders and disappearances in Seattle, in the clock that chimes yet another hour where Aro has not called with a decision from Volterra, in the sleepless nights that make Bella resort to fueling her body with blood rather than rest.

By the second week in May when the chilly weather finally abates and the clouds are absent of rain, it feels as if all they have done is wait and that is how Bella discovers that anxiety is a cloistering, coyly bittersweet scent that festers in the air.

Everything is up in the air - until it is not.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Show me again," Mele demands, hand held out palm-side up.

Bella's fingers hadn't strayed far since the last time Mele had asked - just a few moments ago, actually - and so it is an immediate surge as their skin meet again. _The same memory_? She clarifies, a bit miffed as to Mele's continued curiosity on this topic - and more than a bit interested in Mele's fixation because she senses that Mele is looking for a confirmation of a theory, for evidence that she can use, and Bella has come to trust that Mele is nothing if not thorough and exacting.

 _Yes_ , Mele replies succinctly.

Bella again summons the memory of James' attack, the ghost of his hands and teeth and helplessness cresting over her awareness. It's an uncomfortable memory, one she would rather not revisit. But - and this is true of all things in life - discomfort is a necessary evil. She's idly thankful that Edward is at the Cullen house for the moment. She can't imagine that he would approve of she and Mele continually analyzing a rather traumatic memory from top to bottom.

Yet despite Bella's commitment to seeing that she give her fullest attention to entertaining whatever it is that Mele is searching for, she is _so_ relieved when Mele folds her hands together and declares, "That is enough."

Bella flexes her fingers, tucking them into the sleeves of one of Charlie's old flannel shirts. She'd been cleaning the house when Mele had arrived and the sharp scents of homemade cleaners - vinegar, lemon, and baking soda - are beginning to drift out of the open windows. Learning to clean with enhanced senses had been a series of trials and errors until she'd given up with store-bought cleaners and asked for tutelage from Esme, who had been only too happy to help. But even Esme's advice and Bella's new arsenal of homeopathic cleaners could soothe the moderately acrid scent from her nose; the hang-time of scents was _ridiculous_ , honestly.

She was glad for Mele's interruption, although she wishes the sun would have allowed them to do this exercise outside rather than in the kitchen.

"What were you looking for?" Bella asks when Mele makes to stand. "In that memory, I mean? What could be so important?"

Mele's full lips pull into a considering frown. " _Mtoto_ , I do not believe that your gift is what we have assumed."

Bella's brows shoot up in unmasked surprise. "I always thought it was rather straight-forward, actually."

"No," Mele replies, tilting her head to the side. "I must seek consultation in this matter. While I can sense that you are gifted and I can absorb that gift myself, I cannot understand the mechanics or identify its functionality myself - not without completely removing the gift from you."

"But you know someone who _can_ do that," Bella realizes astutely.

Mele's eyes crinkle in the faintest of smiles. She runs her finger down the side of Bella's face, a small token of affection for anyone else, but a blatantly fond gesture for Mele. "I will return shortly. Rely on no-one else for your safety _, mtoto_ , and trust your instincts."

"I will," Bella promises, but by the time the words tumble out, Mele has already disappeared from Charlie's spotless kitchen and Bella is left to ponder over Mele's meaning by herself.

If she is being honest - and Bella is always honest - then she has sensed something in her gift that was not as peaceable as the rest of her apparent power. Something insidious, hungry, dark and shadowy. Something that _had_ begun to ravage James' mind, something that even Edward had brushed upon, and something that they both wondered at - when they weren't distracted by newspapers and each other, of course.

It was perhaps a good thing that Mele seemed prepared to devote _her_ full attention to this.

Bella hopes she will return with answers.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She had once compared running with Edward as being on the roof of a racecar and it had been thrilling, but that had also been before _she_ was a racecar, too - and she finds that the comparison is pale in contrast to the actual experience of running full-tilt at vampire speed. She is not as fast as Edward, but then again, nobody is. The joy he feels in unleashing the entire throttle of his speed is the same elation she feels as she runs at his side, gliding through the forest at such incomprehensible velocity that the high-definition world around her takes on a surreal quality. They are nowhere near to breaking the sound barrier, but it _feels_ like it and that is good enough.

Her mate is startlingly competitive, though. He pushes his longer legs faster and she huffs as she tries to keep pace, falling short by a clear quarter-mile when he puts his mind to it. "You _complete_ show-off," she gripes good-naturedly.

Edward laughs, quietly boisterous, and spins on his heel, stopping on a dime with a wide boyish smile as he waits for her to catch up. "You're not upset that you lost, are you, love?"

Bella closes the distance between them with the toes of her boots bumping against his and she rolls her eyes. "Of course not," she says with a tone of superiority. " _I_ am not a child and unlike you and Emmett and Jasper, I understand the difference between quantity and quality."

"Oh?"

She arches a brow, smile curling at the corners of her mouth. "You see, when I win, I savor the victory so as not to spoil it with plotting the course to my next inevitable win and that makes it all the more sweet."

Edward's hands slide down to the small of her back, pressing their bodies together as his eyes darken flirtatiously. "But isn't there something people say?" he counters, dipping his head to capture her lips, pulling away with a stinging nip that makes her shiver against him. "To the victors go the spoils?"

She shakes her head minutely, the movement brushing their lips together just slightly, a tease. "I don't think that means what you think it means, you braggart."

"Me, a braggart?" Edward widens his eyes facetiously. "I would never."

"Very arrogant," she informs him with a sly smile.

"Confident because I win so very often," he counters.

Bella giggles. "Oh, you're humble, too."

"And don't you forget it," he mutters, kissing her again - this time more firmly, long enough to steal her breath and rouse the coil of tension below her navel. Her lips part obligingly beneath his as she stretches up on her toes, winding her arms around his neck to play with the soft hair at the nape of his neck. Edward grasps her hips, then runs his hands upward until his skin slips beneath the thin marled cyan sweater hanging loosely from her body. As his hands palm her lower back, fingers skittering up and down her spine to flirt with the band of her bra, the connection between their minds reveals a trace of thoughts that makes her smirk against his heated kisses.

It seems that Edward _really_ likes her habit of wearing shorts, especially dark denim that contrasts with the milky tone of her complexion. And attached to that thought is an intense gratification that she has a collection of socks that reach her knees and bunch around her ankles and hide the delicate jut of her bones from the eyes of other men - he might enjoy her legs, but coming from a time where only husbands saw the ankles of their wives, she almost can't grasp just how much he appreciates her propensity for chunky boots and knit footwear fabrics.

Edward pulls back, his palms sloping down to the curve of her hips as he closes his eyes in apparent mortification. "You…heard all of that, didn't you?"

She traces the shell of his ear, eliciting a soft growl, followed by a rather bashful expression. "What, that you have some appreciation for parts of my body? Edward, surely you must realize that I _also_ have unique preferences," she says gently, trying to soothe him of this sudden embarrassment. She flattens her hands firmly down the line of his shoulders, then scrapes her nails over his biceps and forearms, before grasping one of his hands within her own and marveling over the length of his pianist fingers; she does not hide any of her thoughts, even as her face flames at the honesty pouring from her mind, at the exposure of some of her more vivid fantasies.

This time, his growl is nothing short of predatory as he backs her against a tree, looming over her with dark, dark eyes. "Bella," he warns, and she knows that he is on the precipice of his control, that he has already pushed their physical relationship much further than even she had expected. Chaste as many of his touches are, she is reassured that this _thoughts_ are decidedly not.

Bella squeezes his hand, then smiles sweetly. "I don't mind that you're an ass-man, Edward, or that you have some very particular thoughts about my legs," she says, then silently adds, _The ankle thing isn't even that odd, considering the time period in which you were raised. And now that I know, I promise that I will make efforts to keep my ankles covered around other men, lest you be motivated to pummel some poor human into the ground._

 _You don't have to-_

 _Nonsense. It's not as though I'm a provocative dresser anyway, but it's nice to know there_ is _a way to provoke you._

Edward sighs, leaning his forehead against her own, rumbling softly when she skates her thumb beneath the purple shadow under his eye. "I think there's a herd of elk nearby," she verbalizes. They had come this far into the forest surrounding Forks for a reason after all. They were both quite thirsty and it was in their best interest to hunt frequently while all of this Victoria drama was still up in the air. Bella's eyes had darkened into deep viridian and Edward had been sporting umber for the past few days.

He pressing a final kiss against her lips before they agree to hunt in separate directions. Bella might be fine with elk, but Edward has a taste for big game. That's fine; they'll meet in their meadow when they're each done.

Bramble rustles beneath his feet at his speedy departure and Bella takes several long breaths to gather her wits, staring at the length of her legs with speculation. Pale, but shapely and toned and apparently exposed often enough that her mate has to make concerted efforts to stare at her face rather than her body. She smiles to herself, zooming off with barely a whisper in the direction of the elk, following the warm, gamey scent and the hot thud of multiple hearts.

She doesn't feel thirst exactly the same way as full-vampires do - her throat burns, of course, but not to the point of distraction or unbearable pain. Not unless she's hunting and giving into instincts that urge fangs to drop lower in her mouth, the diaphanous points glimmering with a trace of venom just strong enough to paralyze her prey for a moment. Her fangs dig into the broken neck of an older buck like hot knives through butter, her eyes fluttering closed as she drinks her fill. The rush of new blood into her system makes her skin hotter than usual, a flush rising over her chest and cheeks. When she is done, she hauls the buck beneath a tree knowing that she has left just enough blood in the body that a bear would be attracted to the remainder of her kill, a tip she had picked up from Emmett, who had an obsession with bears that Bella didn't even want to touch upon.

Bella reaches the meadow first, but that isn't surprising. She's still rather clinical about hunting - the Cullens like to make a game of it, which is why hunts last days when the weather is sunny. There is some sort of complex scoring system that Esme keeps tabs on and Bella is at the bottom of the bracket. Not that she minds. She's still a bit too human to play with her food.

She lays in the middle of a patch of newly-blooming wildflowers, plucking one from the ground to spin between her fingers - still amazed by the details that she missed for so long, like the veiny, square plant cells that pattern the petals, or the drag of pollen dusted over one leaf, evidence that a bee had visited this bloom, as well. She brings the flower closer to her nose, inhaling deep as she closes her eyes -

And then she springs up into a low, defensive crouch, head tilted at a sharp angle toward the direction where the distinct sound of a cracking twig had echoed through the woods. All of Mele's training rushes to the forefront of her mind - because she already knows _that is not her mate_. The scent carried on the wind is unfamiliar to her, but definitely vampire and definitely a human-drinker.

 _Although_ , she backtracks, considering the varied bite to the scent _. It almost smells like Mele - like Mele's diet_.

What other vampire would hunt both humans and animals, though?

 _Unless that vampire was trying to transition to the vegetarian diet_ , she realizes as a dark-skinned, dreadlocked, persimmon-eyed male vampire steps from the shadows, his hands held up as a silent sign of surrender. She's only seen him once, but Laurent is unmistakable.

Bella straightens slightly, intrigued as he watches her, studies the changes she has undergone since the last time he laid eyes on her - changes that are surely very obvious to a vampire. She lifts her chin in challenge, in demand, in explanation, her fangs lengthening and biting against her lower lip.

Laurent steps forward, hands still aloft. "I have come with good intentions," he declares.

"That remains to be determined."

"You don't trust me."

"Do I honestly have reason to, considering who your past company has been?"

Laurent frowns. "Ah. Well, that is a good point," he concedes. "But what of the company I currently keep?"

Her eyes narrow. "You've come down from Denali, then?"

He nods earnestly. "Yes, yes. I had wanted to visit the Cullens - to thank them," he explains as he gestures to his eyes, unmistakable proof that he is being honest about at least one thing. "Because of the patriarch and his mate, I have been enlightened to a better way of life. A more honest life. I have found happiness and it was suggested that I extend my thanks in person."

Bella straightens completely. "Alright," she says cautiously. "I can take you to the Cullen house, then, if you are lost."

Laurent shakes his head, expression falling. "I was searching for you, specifically."

"And why is that?"

"Victoria," he breathes. "She has-"

Edward bursts from the other side of the meadow, quickly followed by the three gigantic shapes of the Quileute wolves, each of them growling at a terrifying volume that raises the hair on the back of her neck even though their aggression isn't directed toward her. Edward bares his teeth at Laurent, instinctively trying to hide her body with the breadth of his own lithe form. The wolves, led by Sam Uley's hulking black-furred body, fall into a triangular formation aimed directly at Laurent with the clear intent of taking him out.

Bella reacts immediately, spinning around Edward's body and calling out, "Stop! Wait, listen to him!" She turns her gaze to Edward, holding her palm toward him, offering the last several minutes; he follows her memories, then mimics her straight, unthreatened posture, cocking his head to the side as he focuses intently on Laurent.

A disturbed expression crosses the angular planes of his face. "Victoria sought you out," he says aloud.

Laurent nods, wearily eying the lumbering forms of the wolves, especially the silver-furred form of Paul who is still growling with menace. "Ah, yes," confirms Laurent. "I came through Vancouver and she was waiting for me. She wanted me to join her cause - against you and the rest of the Cullens. Retribution for the death of James, you see."

"We gathered as much," Bella divulges. "She hasn't been terribly subtle in Seattle."

"You declined to help her," Edward declares and that is enough to finally quiet Paul.

"I did," Laurent confirms, rubbing at his shoulder with a wince. "She was not pleased - but I managed to frame my disinterest in her cause as a means of placating my own mate, Irina of the Denali coven, and she allowed me to leave with my head still attached to my shoulders. I had the sense that she'd only extended an invitation to me as a matter of convenience."

Edward's newly-bright eyes alight with understanding, catching a trace of Laurent's thoughts. "She's unhinged," he realizes. "Disorganized and inconsistent, with the exception of her gift."

"Victoria has changed very much," Laurent says, discomfited by the wolves as he edges away. "When she let me go, I thought of immediately returning to Denali - but then I was not sure if you knew of her intentions already and I felt it best to continue on my way to extend gratitude to your coven. I would have never met my Irina if not for the mercy you have shown me."

 _And now he has confirmed what Jasper suspects and what Alice has seen_ , Bella thinks without reservation.

Edward looks at her, silently gauging her for some decision, which she realizes with a start after a long moment. Of course - the question of what to do with Laurent was now at her pleasure, wasn't it? Her mate was deferring to her because of her connection to the Volturi, but she didn't want that. She didn't want her mate's complacency - she wanted his opinion, his advice, the wisdom he had gained from over a hundred years of life.

"Let's discuss what to do with the family," she suggests out loud for the benefit of the wolves and Laurent. "I'm sure Jasper would appreciate any additional details you could offer, Laurent. And Sam, if you want to come along as well, I believe there is some information it would be beneficial for you to have."

"An excellent idea, love," Edward murmurs in agreement.

And in truth, it is a good idea.

Jasper grills Laurent for information about Victoria for an entire hour, then has Edward confirm his thoughts and Bella transfer Laurent's memories of the encounter directly to Jasper. And once the Cullens are confident in Laurent's loyalty to the family - specifically, his loyalty to Irina - it is then Sam Uley's turn to demand answers. For a werewolf that is vulnerable to volatile emotions, Sam takes the news of a newborn army cropping up in Seattle with relative ease. The only thing Sam wants is a guarantee that the Cullens will not interfere with his pack operating against these newly born vampires as they see fit and there is no reason for the Cullens to stand in the way of what is, all things considered, a tactical advantage.

This development, though, settles the anxiety coiling in her stomach. They have a confirmation and two new allies. It is a step in the right direction.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Grandmother Sulpicia,_

 _I am sure you are aware of the situation brewing in the greater Seattle area and the threat it exposes us all to, and for that reason I am writing to you as an entreaty for information about newborn vampires. Anything you can tell me will be of great assistance. I wish to understand them completely, Grandmother. There is only so much that the Cullen coven can tell me. I believe it would be beneficial to view any records the Volturi have on how vampires are changed - and how newborn armies are created and maintained._

 _Please entertain my curiosity, if for no other reason than to support the new position I seem to have taken recently._

 _All my love,_

 _Your Granddaughter Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Mrs. Kelley's class discussions had been as lively as she'd promised that the beginning of the year, but that didn't take away from the fact that the discussions had been observed with at least some modicum of civility. Probably because only Bella and a few members of the senior class even bothered to involve themselves and debate was then narrowed to hypotheticals. Jasper, though, has taken to this topic with an outspoken force that fluctuates with the edge of his gift as he douses the classroom in only a scant degree of his intensity - and Bella is as powerless to resist the influence as much as she is powerless to resist the real-world applicability of the topic at hand.

"World War II incited a transition in the balance of world power, but in doing that, it also created a series of complex alliances made between opposing nations - alliances that are still relevant today. My question to you, class, is if collaboration with the enemy is permissible in war?" Mrs. Kelley had posed, sitting on the edge of her desk with her arms crossed over her chest.

What other opinion could Bella have at the moment, when just a few days ago had seen the cementation of an alliance between two supernatural enemies - with an alliance between the Cullens and the Quileutes against the common enemy of Victoria and her burgeoning army?

"Of course its permissible," she declares forthrightly. "In war, you take every advantage you can in order to win. If that means that you're fighting side-by-side with your natural-born enemy, with a culture that has different views than you, then so be it. The enemy of your enemy is your friend."

"And more liable to turn 'round and stab you in the back when the threat is gone," Jasper drawls.

Bella eyes him warily; he'd not made his reluctance to ally with the Quileute pack _or_ Laurent a secret. "If you're expecting a betrayal after the enemy is eliminated, then what do you have to be afraid of? You're already prepared to catch the knife before it finds your spine."

Jasper snorts - and so the debate is started, mostly with Bella and Jasper volleying back and forth increasingly pointed comments. The difference is simple. Jasper, who had seen war in a camp where _everyone_ was an enemy, was more inclined to doubt war-time alliances; and Bella, who had only read about wars, maintained a level of optimism that a common enemy was enough to align opposing sides.

Maybe it did for Laurent. They truly had no doubt in his loyalty in this - but the wolves were another matter altogether, as Sam rightfully blamed the presence of vampires in ripping the beast right out of his skin and as the treaty had already been compromised once with the transformation of James' bite two months before. The alliance with La Push was tenuous at best; at worst, it was a tightrope walk with Carlisle and Sam each waiting for the other side to snap.

Could they trust this new alliance?

France had trusted America - an alliance that was still holding strong. This might be the same case, or it might be more similar to the new alliances reformed Germany held with the rest of Europe.

Time would tell.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

A few days later after long, pensive silences from Jasper, he approaches her over the weekend, coming to a stop at the kitchen island where she and Esme were working on a batch of blueberry-almond muffins for the Forks Police Department.

"If we're dealin' with newborns, then all that trainin' you did with Mele isn't goin' to be enough," he declares baldly, staring at her with intensity and a sense of determined resignation. "Talk to the wolves - I don't want weak links in the ranks."

Bella does as she's bid. As she drops off the muffins for the police officers, she trails into Charlie's office and has him place a call to Billy Black, setting up a meeting between herself, Sam, Carlisle, and Jasper to create a schedule for training the wolves - and retraining the family - in how to best fight against newborns. Being a Tribal Elder and someone who should have been Chief if the Quileutes still ran their government that way, Billy had the authority to be a proxy for Sam and Bella had somehow gained that same position for Carlisle, given that Jasper didn't trust the wolves as far as he could throw them.

Charlie passes along Billy's contact information, effectively removing himself from the equation now that his connection was no longer necessary, and then he asks what else she's been cooking up with the Cullen coven's best tactician.

Bella presses her lips together. She might have won Jasper over with the wolves, but she'd had to give in to his wisdom on another matter as a fact of compromise. "We're sending Laurent to Seattle as a spy," she says with a sigh.

Charlie's brows raise high. "It's like a damn movie," he chuckles. "You have spies and alliances and political maneuvering."

Bella rolls her eyes, secretly glad for her father's blasé attitude toward the entire situation, taking as a degree of confidence he feels in _her_ , in her decisions. "I'm so glad you find this all so entertaining, Dad."

"Well, my HBO subscription just ended. Got to have some kind of entertainment."

"It's not like we're battling for the Iron Throne!"

"Could've fooled me, kid."

And yes - perhaps Charlie has a point.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

By the end of the second week in a cloudy, balmy May, Edward has taken to staying in her room overnight. She supposes she should have expected as much, given how accustomed they both came to her sleeping with him in her bed while she was transitioning at the Cullen house. The first night, he tries to stay in the chair at the corner of the room, but she sleeps such few hours that she wakes irritable the next morning and declares a few days later - when the urge to sleep takes her again - that if he was staying in her room to protect her from the red-haired vampire trying to take them both out, then he might as well stay in her bed, too.

And that - predictably - is the beginning of the final deterioration of Edward's boundaries.

There are only so many times they can share a bed with the animal-instinct tension between them before they give into hormonal urges and the drive to mate and claim that they have been doing their best to ignore since the first time they laid eyes on each other.

It is a night that Charlie is working a double shift that eventually finds Bella and Edward in a compromising position.

She's been unable to sleep, too aware of her own body by half as she lay beside her mate, him over the covers and she beneath them, as if the barrier of down feathers and cotton would be enough to still the electricity that whispers through the air between them. And her mind just wouldn't _quiet_ , racing with too many thoughts - the issue with Victoria, her future, the Volturi's decision, _graduation_. None of it was conducive to meaningful rest.

Bella rolls onto her back with a sigh, head lolling to the side to catch Edward's golden gaze. "I can't sleep," she announces, a touch sour because she _does_ feel tired - although, maybe it's a mental strain rather than fatigue. She can't tell, anymore.

Edward leans onto his elbow, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her cheek. "Would you like a book? _The Art of War?"_

"You're teasing me," she says, wrinkling her nose. "But just you wait, everyone will be _glad_ that I brushed up on Sun Tzu."

"I wouldn't want to doubt your wisdom, love."

She shoves at his shoulder, hard enough that he must catch himself before he rolls off the edge of the bed. He fixes his balance with a laugh, his head tilted back far enough that her eyes snag on the alluring line of this throat, which bobs with his low laughter. Her heart flops in her chest, face heating when he quirks a brow, lips slanted into a winsome smirk. Bella looks away, sitting up and pressing the covers firmly over her lap, studiously avoiding her mate's gaze as he follows her motion, sweeping the hair away from her neck in an affectionate, _completely innocent_ gesture. Gathering control of herself, she turns her head, intent on finding her footing in their verbal play, but her words die in her throat as she encounters his smoldering stare instead.

"Edward…"

He cups his hand to the back of her head, reeling her into a searing, sun-scorching kiss that deepens by the second - and she inhales deeply through her nose, body moving by instinct, ghosting after the lithe lines of his body as Edward reclines against the bed, slowly guiding her to kneel over him, her knees on either side of his hips. Their lips do not break contact, even as his touches grow firm, decisive as they sweep over the curve of her hips, the dip of her spine. There is no doubt that Edward is taking reign of this moment - that he was willing to cross the invisible line he'd made in the sand.

Really, it was kind of amazing he'd waited this long - that they'd both abstained from anything that wasn't strictly chaste, especially considering the mating drive of vampires, which would not rest until - well, until consummation.

Not that in mattered in that moment.

No, all that mattered to Bella was the sensation rioting through her body, that molten heat below her navel that settles between her legs with a fierce, sweet ache. She breaks away with a gasp when Edward shifts their positions again, applying pressure to her lower back so that their hips meet with a shudder of spines. His lips string a series of suckling kisses down her neck, where he laves at the hollow of her throat, eliciting a quivering, breathless keen as one of his palms successfully locates the overheated flesh around her waist -

His hand slides upward, thumb brushing against the underside of her breast.

" _Oh_."

Edward's chest rumbles, a low growl that vibrates through his entire body, and his hand presses against the swell of her chest, his mouth working against the crook of her neck. When his palm catches against the sensitive nub of her nipple, a zing of lust shoots directly to her core and she writhes against him thoughtlessly - before stopping, lungs tight as she realizes what she'd done, what she'd _moved against_.

He pulls away, lust-onyx eyes heavy as he silently watches her - still, exactly as the lion watches the lamb he is about to slaughter. And then with great deliberation, he shifts the hand on her breast until his thumb sweeps against her nipple, once again spurring her hips to move over his, where the pressure of his turgid length presses so deliciously against her slickened center. His responding smile is feral and like a man possessed, he sits up, again handling her into the position he desires her to be in, straddled over his lap with his head level to her chest. Edward turns his head, releasing a stream of cool air over her nipple as he watches her reaction, studying the way her pupils dilate, the way her mouth drops open.

He catches her lips, then, and sends one thought forward with all the weight of a freight train: _Move_.

Bella takes the permission with a shiver and an arch of her back, undulating against him while his hands return to her breasts. Her fingers tangle into his bronze hair, holding him against her as ardor and untamed passion run wildly through her body, guiding her body to move against her mate. The base of her spine lights up with fire and she is inflamed by her desire - just as her jaw aches with the unerring yearning to _bite_ -

She wrenches Edward away from her breasts with a cry, capturing his mouth with vivid hunger, her elongated fangs scraping against his skin - and then he pulls away, sensing the direction of her thoughts, dropping his head back in unmistakable invitation.

Bella doesn't hesitate, decorating his throat in open-mouthed kisses and punishing nips as his palms close fully over her hips to usher to movement of their bodies into a seamless, ever-intense rocking motion that serves their mutual need - pushing them both closer to the edge of oblivion that they chase in a series of gasping mewls and male growls of satisfaction. One of those rocking movements presses against her pubic bone perfectly and she whimpers, curling over his body as heat races through her body -

Her lips find the marks she had made on her mate, and then her teeth sink into his skin, a well of venom of blood seeping into her mouth as she shudders over him, caught in a whirlwind of clenching muscles and tingling nerves. _The little death_ , she thinks, swallowing once and then extracting her fangs, lapping at her marks as Edward's fingers do their best to gouge bone-deep bruises into her flesh of her bottom while he thrusts against her, snarling his release.

She moves her mouth to the hinge of his jaw, kissing him softly, tenderly, breathlessly.

Their satiated, heavy breaths fill the dark room.

There is no regret.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Mele returns a week after her departure with five golden-eyed vampires in tow - vampires, Bella soon learns, that the Cullens consider their cousins. The Denali coven, comprised of the three blonde-haired sisters Tanya, Kate, and Irina, and headed by the dark-haired mated couple Eleazar and Carmen.

Introductions are made efficiently by Mele, who is not deterred by the desire to discuss frivolous topics. She merely points the members of the coven out to Bella, and then explains that Eleazar has been brought to consult with Mele on the particulars of Bella's gift. Doing her best to keep in line with Mele's no-nonsense attitude, Bella dutifully follows Mele and Eleazar into the backyard mere moments after the Denali coven arrives - she does notice, however, that Edward, the Cullens, and the new guests follow in curiosity.

"Might I have a demonstration?" Eleazar asks once everyone has arranged themselves in a loose circle. He is a good-looking man with stunning bone structure, his olive complexion oddly pallid but doing nothing to take away from the kindness of his features. Eleazar clasps his hands behind his back, brow furrowed attentively as Bella touches Mele, and then Edward to demonstrate the way her touch telepathy works.

She drops her hand, tucking it into the sleeve of Edward's navy cardigan while Mele turns to Eleazar expectantly. "Did I not tell you that it was more complex than Aro's gift?"

Eleazar tilts his head. "So you did say, Mele," he responds after a moment. Then, he smiles genially at Bella. "My, but you do remind me of your great-great-grandfather. The same bearing, I believe. A sense of duty."

"Speak plainly," Mele orders sternly. "Is there something more, or not?"

"Always business with you," Eleazar complains mildly, inciting a round of laughter from both of the covens with the exception of Bella, who is waiting with a heavy stomach.

Edward's grip curves over her shoulders, acting as an anchor as he takes up his customary position at her back. "I didn't catch that thought," he says to Eleazar. "You're very good at occluding."

Eleazar bows his head. "A habit of being in close quarters with a telepath for so long, I'm afraid. Forgive me, Isabella, for the delay. I am simply unsure of how to word your abilities."

"There is more than one?" she asks with surprise.

Eleazar smiles. "Well, of course. The absorption, of course, but also the double-shield…"

He goes on to explain that Bella's gift has a few default settings, as it were - the first is touch telepathy, which takes only surface thoughts unless she wishes otherwise, and the second is a double-shield that works mainly to keep her protected from absorbing the world - and gifts - around her automatically and to keep the first gift in check. Because her first gift, the ability to absorb thoughts, is much more than it seems. If Bella wanted to, she could absorb an entire mind, an entire gift, and most worryingly, the entire energy of a person - like she had instinctively tried to do with James.

"Like a psychic vampire," she murmurs, thinking of that dark insidious part of her mind that is locked so tightly away, that hungers even now, a vicious shadow that has been caged for her entire life.

The shields, then, are sort of like failsafe measures; the main shield is permanent around her mind, locking away the shadow in her mind, while the secondary shield stops her from inadvertently absorbing _too_ much and, as a secondary function, also protects her from gifts that operate on the mental level, like Edward's.

"A perfect mixture of Aro and Mele's gifts," Eleazar muses. "Very interesting and quite powerful. I've never seen anything like it. You're quite the force -"

"But I could hurt people," Bella interjects, wringing her hands together as her quick mind flashes to the ramifications of such a power. "I mean, I could _really_ hurt someone - just with a touch."

"Shh, love," Edward soothes, pulling her into his arms, where she presses her face against his chest and does her best to calm the rattle of her lungs, breath coming to fast as the full weight of her _gifts_ send her reeling.

 _She's been so lucky to not have killed someone._ Bella could have thoughtlessly drained the energy from her mother or father - or from Edward - or her grandparents - an _innocent_ -

"Well, I think it's fucking cool," Emmett says loudly. "You're like a real vampire! Fangs and everything, even metaphorical ones!"

"You idiot," Rosalie chides, rapping him on the back of the head. "Can't you see that she's upset?"

"I know how that feels," says a new voice - Kate, the only gifted sister-vampire. "You've kind of got the opposite of my gift, actually. See, I have too much energy and I just go around zapping people."

"Bella, dear, I'm sure you can control it," Esme offers as she steps away from Carlisle, rubbing soothingly at Bella's back. "You haven't hurt anyone yet, have you?"

 _Almost_ , Bella thinks - she'd done it instinctively. Twice, now, she's realizing. James and that man in Port Angeles. But thinking of that _does_ calm her down, because the part of her gift that is scaring her, the insidious hunger gnawing for psychic energy in the back of her mind, seems to be only defensive. And that's a good thing.

Jasper must realize it at the same time that she does, because he says with a great deal of pragmatism, "If she can learn to control it, then it seems to me that we've got ourselves a nice secret weapon."

Edward growls. "My _mate_ is not a nuclear bomb you can drop over Hiroshima."

"Isn't she?"

All eyes snap to Alice - all in utter shock that it had been sweet, excitable Alice to say such a outright callous remark. But then, it's immediately evident that Alice isn't _all there_ at the moment, her gaze flung far-off, sightless as she watches the future. Alice nods slowly, then turns her head vaguely in Edward and Bella's direction.

"You see, don't you?" Alice asks.

Edward's chest rumbles in response, an unhappy sound - and Bella reaches up, slipping her hand to the nape of his neck and receiving the full impact of the fizzy visions - images that rapidly clear as Bella discovers their brilliance - that Alice is replaying over and over in her mind.

"That could work," she murmurs.

 _No,_ Edward argues, lips twitching away from his teeth as he redirects his growl to her.

 _You'll be with me every step of the way_ , she assures them and then without taking her gaze off her fiercely protective mate, she asks, "Right, Alice?"

And Alice's visions whir to accommodate this new decision, the images crystal clear with vitality and certainty. "Oh, that's even better," says Alice.

 _See?_

Edward is still tense at the very thought of throwing Bella headfirst into battle, even if he was right there at her side, but he must sense that she has set her mind to this course and will not be moved by anything less than a logical argument - which Edward cannot come up with no matter how hard he tries. After all, each new decision he makes increases the likelihood of failure until he too is forced to admit that the best chance of survival - and elimination of Victoria's threat - has already been found.

He sets his jaw. "Fine," he agrees tersely.

Bella kisses the underside of his chin, a silent apology that they must all do what is required of them, no matter how distasteful. Then she turns, tuning back into the conversation that had been happening around them, not at all surprised to learn that Jasper has begun advocating for Bella to receive specialized training from Eleazar on how to control her gift because, "There ain't no way I'm sendin' in that girl without bein' sure her hide remains intact."

"It will be arranged," Mele declares tonelessly.

"Of course," Eleazar agrees, wrapping his arm around Carmen. "It would be my honest delight to aid our family in this endeavor."

"Yes, I agree," Tanya says brightly, stepping forward with her sisters at each elbow. They are each quite beautiful - enough to rival Rosalie - but Bella does not feel threatened, due in no small part to Edward's honesty that it had been Tanya that had talked him into returning to Forks in October, something that the strawberry-blonde vampire did not have to do, especially with her unabashed interest in Edward at the time. Still touching his skin, she can read from Tanya's thoughts that her previous romantic interest has faded into a sisterly regard. There is nothing Tanya respects more than love and Bella cannot fault her for trying to find love in Edward before Bella was part of the picture.

"You can count me in," Kate adds boldly, tossing a wink at Bella. "I might be able to offer my services for my newest cousin's training."

Irina nods. "My mate has involved himself in this, so I will help in any way I can, as well."

And that is how their forces against Victoria's army swells from eight vampires and three wolves to thirteen vampires and three wolves - and how the second half of May breaks away into a series of tactical maneuvers, nights of training, and falling into exhausted slumber in the arms of her mate as she discovers that even vampires have limitations.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

" _Precious_ ," Aro says stridently as he finally returns communication from Volterra, relaying the Volturi decision without aplomb. " _You will be pleased, I am sure, to know that the arrival of a select guard to be deployed at your sole discretion_."

And even as he says it, Bella knows that this is a test for her as much as it is designed to be assistance. Aro is leaving the commanding of _his guard_ to her so that the Volturi Kings, her family, can judge how effective she is in leading and in eliminating threats. Part of her is irked by this blatant examination, but another part cedes that not only is there nothing she can do about it, but also that something like this would have happened eventually - and it might as well happen now, when she is already being stress-tested.

So she only says, "Thank you, Grandfather."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Alice manages to corner Bella one night before they all traipse out to the baseball field where they have been training for the better part of a week - and of all things, Alice wants to talk about _prom_.

"Prom?" Bella repeats with a frown. "Alice, I think there are more important things to be thinking about right now. I'll have a hundred proms, I'm sure."

Alice isn't deterred, however, which isn't all that surprising because it has come to Bella's attention that Alice very rarely hears the word _no_ \- a perk of being psychic. There is a gleam in her eye that Bella has come to recognize, though, and she braces herself for the inevitable manipulation as she scrapes her hair into a high ponytail. Alice doesn't disappoint, bouncing on her toes gleefully.

"But _Charlie_ won't get to see you go to a hundred proms, will he?"

All things considered, it's a bit of a low blow to point out that her father has still steadfastly refused to join her eternal life - but it does appeal to the daughter in Bella that has been lost under the stress of the Victoria situation and all the new roles that she has begun to embrace. Charlie would enjoy the experience, just as any father would. It would reassure him that Bella could be happy in this life and that is more than enough motivation to change her mind.

"Fine," she sighs, ignoring Alice's squeal of excitement. "Do whatever you want as long as it doesn't take away from Mele and Eleazar's training schedule - or Jasper's, because _you'll_ have to deal with his grumpy face, not me."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Darling Granddaughter,_

 _As my husband has finally reached a decision that the brothers may all be satisfied with, I am sending along the records you asked for in the company of the Volturi Guard - do not be intimidated by the size of the carrier, sweetling. However, pending their arrival, I fervently hope that you will maintain your safety in such a precarious, dangerous situation._

 _My heart beholden to you,_

 _Your Grandmother Sulpicia_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Major Jasper Whitlock is a fearsome vampire covered in a hundred different scars that prove just how hard he is to kill and with a reputation like that at his back, it is not surprising at all that - with the exception of Mele - they all defer to his tactician mind and the ruthless training methods that he employs as he whips the Quileute pack and all of the vampires into shape. Jasper's drive to ensure survival is a beast all its own and one that Bella learns from fastidiously.

Emmett and Rosalie fake sick at the start of the final week of May to get out of school and they are sent off to Seattle to keep tabs on the situation and try to meet up with Laurent to gather the intel he has collected. It is not an unusual activity for either vampire, as Rosalie's headstrong attitude and Emmett's sheer size had long-served the Cullen coven to scaring away nomads from Cullen territories. Knowing that does very little to ease Bella's concern that something would _go wrong_ , but even Edward is confident in Jasper's gamble and at the end of the day, Bella doesn't have enough experience to suggest a different way.

And so, instead, she learns how to fight newborns. She eats more dirt than she cares to think about - but so do the wolves as they learn the _right_ way to fight vampires. Instincts only go so far, according to Jasper, and newborns are a different kind of hellion.

Training with Eleazar under Mele's supervision is worse, though. Truly _exhausting_ as Mele continues to _push and push and push_ and as Eleazar seems to view the entire exercise as some kind of science experiment. The truth of the matter is that her ability to absorb has been set to a self-imposed default for so long that she has to battle against herself to take in more than she is used to.

Kate is helpful in this - her unlimited energy, the electricity that she calls forth to bubble through the nerves of her opponent as an offensive gift, is bait enough that Bella is able to force herself to absorb the energy or else suffer a seriously annoying series of stings over her skin.

It is slow-going, learning how to drain and absorb more than just thoughts, but it is much, much easier than learning how to control her second gift. Bella finds that manipulating either of her shields is somewhat akin to flaying the skin from her bones - unnatural and, in the case of the second shield that has caged the vicious hunger in her mind, deeply painful. The shields have been part of her for so long that they have grown tight and it is the true challenge of her training to make those shields permeable at will.

More than once - to the surprise of all the vampires - Bella's nose bleeds as she pushes against the long-standing limitations of her gifts. She always wipes the venom-tinged copper away with the back of her wrist, ready and willing to try again. She'll acclimate. She always has in the past and this is more important than ever.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Prom Night falls on one of the last days in May and Bella can honestly say that the most she remembers from the preparation is the steam of a curling iron being taken to her hair as Rosalie stacks her locks into some complicated, twisty up-do and Alice helping with the pearl buttons lining the spine of the Prussian blue silk-and-tulle dress that is almost definitely designer and clings to Bella's body with a sweetheart neckline. Admittedly, her mind is a million miles away - she's distracted enough that she doesn't even remember to pick out a book to take to the silly dance.

Charlie's reaction - gruff compliments and watery eyes - brings her back to the present and away from the swirling anxiety that has gripped her for the better part of the month. She smiles for the pictures that Alice takes, snug in Edward's embrace with pretty lilacs tied with ribbon onto her wrist.

Bella is glad that Alice talked her into this - she's proud to give this memory to her father. Here is Bella, going to prom just like a normal teenager, and for those moments while she is posing for the obligatory prom photos, it's as if the weight of the world rolls right off her shoulders. She busses a kiss to Charlie's cheek as she leaves, tottering on the midnight blue heels that Alice had selected, perhaps a touch too high but acquiescing to Bella's request that her ankles be covered; the stiletto heel is paired with silky ribbons that wrap over the tops of her feet and halfway to her calf, a bow right over each ankle.

"You look good, kid," says Charlie, clearing his throat and pretending that he isn't choked up with emotion.

Bella's lips stretch into the first genuine smile she's had in a long while. "I'll be home by curfew," she promises.

Charlie levels a minute glare at Edward, who bows his head mostly to hide his smirk. "You better."

If pressed, Bella couldn't tell anyone what the theme of the prom was supposed to be - there is an awful lot of sea green and shimmering lights and enough vases and fishbowls full of water that she supposes they are supposed to be Under The Sea. It doesn't matter, though, because Bella is allowed hours in her mate's arms dancing to vaguely romantic music without the obligation of Victoria's conflict pulling her mind in a different direction. She winds her arms around his neck, tipping onto her toes as their lips meet, the crooning of a male singer slipping through the background.

 _I'm glad we did this_ , she tells him.

Edward smiles, fitting her firmly against his chest with one of his hands almost indecently low on her back. _I love you._

She kisses him again, pushing all of her emotions at him with the gentle control that she has gained from her most recent bout of training. They don't need words; they never did. Around them, the world falls away. Is this the point of going to a dance? Bella thinks that it is - and there isn't anything more wonderful than spinning around a room in Edward's arms, safe and sound and resplendent with affection.

He takes her home in his ridiculously, flamboyantly fancy car - a Martin something in the shade of silver that he seems to prefer with low seats that send the skirt of her dress drifting up on her thighs unless she holds the fabric in place. Bella lets the skirt flutter halfway to her knees, lips curving with satisfaction as Edward's topaz gaze follows the line of her legs rather than the lines of the road ahead.

"You're dangerous," he declares, clenching his jaw while she laughs at him.

But then his expression - which had been facetiously admonishing - changes and she sits up alertly, peering out the window as he pulls up to the Swan household. The front lawn is clear, but Edward's eyes are fixated on the forest lining the backyard and a flash of weariness settles over her skin.

Is this it, then? For all their planning, for all that strategy, are they out of time?

Three figures step out of the shadows, each of them cloaked in deep charcoal, and the largest lugging what looks like a wooden crate in front of him - red eyes glint from beneath hoods and moonlight catches on an achingly familiar insignia. These are the Volturi guards sent by Aro.

Bella waits for Edward to help her out of the car, more for his benefit than for hers so that he has a reason to lock their fingers together and position his body before hers as they walk forward to meet the figures halfway, all done at a human pace. Bella knows that Edward doesn't trust these new vampires, but not because he doesn't trust the Volturi - because he can read their minds and he detects three very different flavors regarding their current assignment. The big one - Felix - is affable, while the leaner one - Dimitri - is rather bored at the moment. Edward could care less about them, though, because they aren't the danger.

The girl - Jane - is the truly gifted one and there is a degree of sadism that is always in her thoughts, enough so that even if her orders are to harm only those who harm Bella, it makes Edward leery that she cannot be controlled by a decree so far outside of Aro's influence. Jane is mildly resentful that she is being loaned out to some half-human, but that doesn't stop the platinum-blonde from dropping her hood to reveal her youthful face. Jane couldn't have been bitten a day before she turned fifteen; she looks as young as Alice, even with the timelessness that all vampires seem to possess.

Jane tilts her head, smiling cold and saccharine. "How sweet of you to dress up for me."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is May.

* * *

 **A/N: I'm just going to go take a really, really well-deserved break. This chapter should have been two, really, but I decided against it because it would mess with the entire idea of having one-chapter-per-month in the story timeline, with the transformation chapter being a stand-alone interlude. So instead, you all got this hulking beast instead, plus a bit of a cliffy! Yay!**

 **In writing this chapter, I killed a bag of pita chips and gummy worms (on individual days). Their sacrifice is much appreciated!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	13. twelve: june

**twelve**

 **june**

* * *

 **If a June night could talk, it would probably boast that it invented romance.**

 **\- - - Bern Williams**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The clock ticks over midnight, ushering May into June with a distinctly uncomfortable air in the Swan household. Still dressed in her the blue dress of swirling tulle, Bella finally grows fed up with the weird triad stand-off that has been held between Edward, Jane, and Charlie for the last half-hour. It's _ridiculous_ and obviously she's going to have to be the tie-breaker.

Stepping around the Felix and Dimitri, she wades into the living room with her arms crossed over her chest and a no-nonsense slant to her hips, feet firmly rooted in ribbon-laced heels and positively aching from the angle of the shoe. She's _tired_ and in no mood for any of this - she wants to release her hair from the complicated twist Rosalie had made, find loose clothes, and bury her head in her pillow with a sliver of dark chocolate on her tongue. And she can't do any of that if there can't be some agreement found in the immediate arrangements for the Volturi guard until she can decide what to do with them - which will be done as soon as she consults Jasper and Sam. And if she's going to do _that_ , then she needs her rest so that all her wits are about her.

"Alright, here's how it's going to go," she announces abrasively, brows arched high. "The way I see it, there is only one instant solution - so, Dad, we're going to have houseguests for the foreseeable future. Edward, you're going to have to make peace with that. And you three, there will be no hunting in the Cullen territory. If you're thirsty, you can run to Tacoma, and for the love of God, make at least some effort to target criminals. Can everyone live with that?"

"Now, Bells, I don't know that I'm comfortable with this," Charlie says firmly, hands on his hips. "I know Aro sent them and all, but these people are strangers…and we don't have a guest room for them."

"They don't sleep," she counters flatly.

"I will personally guarantee that we won't be any trouble for you, Master Charles," Felix declares, still standing in the doorway of the kitchen with the wooden crate hanging from his large arms. "We have our orders."

"Exactly," Edward injects warily. "That is precisely my concern."

"Oh, _please_ ," scoffs Jane. "We are here to guard the girl, so we will be wherever she is whether you like it or not, mind-reader."

Edward steps forward minutely. "I _can_ read your mind, Jane, and so I know perfectly well that you are compelled here only for-"

Jane's eyes narrow infinitesimally, but it is enough to make Edward cry out at the shock of pain, his knees bending at the sensation. Bella puts an end to that, quickly stepping in front of her mate's body and snapping, " _Stop that_!" She will realize later that _she_ hadn't felt the pain of Jane's power, probably some off-shoot of her shield just the same way that she doesn't feel the electro-shock of Kate's power - just a surge of bone-rattling energy that she is learning to siphon off or block entirely.

Bella _is_ concerned at Jane's blasé use of such a harmful gift, though - and she doesn't appreciate it being applied to _Edward_. Would she need to talk to Jane about proper times for use, after all? Bella had no idea, at that moment, that Aro often let Jane have free-reign with her power and she certainly couldn't have known that _she_ would be the one to implement boundaries in his stead.

Jane harrumphs, a high, brief noise, and flicks her eyes away. "As you say, Mistress Isabella."

Even Bella can hear the grudging, facetious respect that Jane has laced into her tone; she wonders if it burns like acid on her tongue to be forced to speak the words and sighs. "Just Bella, please," she mutters, palming her forehead as if such an action can give her the patience she so longs for in that moment.

She completely misses the shock writ plain on Jane's face as she turns away to finish addressing Charlie and Edward's concerns. Now, it was true that they didn't have room for guests, but these aren't the average houseguests, either, and they _were_ trustworthy by Aro's estimation and Bella wouldn't hear any arguments about their presence in her home - or around her person. Surely Aro had his reasons for selecting a tracker, a wall of muscle, and one of the witch-twins. If she weren't so tired, Bella was sure that she would already have outlined specific assignments for them, but as it is, she hadn't slept the night before in order to train with Eleazar and what Bella needs more than anything at the moment is peace and quiet so she can sleep. And so she continues negotiating the stay of the hand-selected Volturi guards with Charlie and Edward, drawing on whatever logic seems to have the easiest route to persuasion. Charlie's issue is with the suddenness and the awkwardness of having strangers in his house, something that is easily minimized by the capitulation that the guards would only be in the house when Bella was, which was increasingly less these days. Edward's issue is a bit more complex; he's leery of Jane especially, doesn't take kindly to the notion of a strange male vampire being around his mate near-constantly, and bucks against the notion that _he_ wasn't enough to protect Bella.

And if she's honest, she's upset by the idea that she's not strong enough to protect herself, either, but once again her sensibility kicks in. She can't guard herself constantly and there was no telling when Victoria would strike as she grew ever-more unpredictable by the day. So she reaches for her mate's hand, flinging herself into his mental space with all of her reasoning laid out clearly for his perusal. She understands his hesitation and she hopes that he understands her complacency. Edward can't always be around, however much he wants to be; Mele kept to the shadows unless necessary out of personal preference and it was unfair to expect otherwise; and Bella, while still receiving training, had days of low and high energy that left her self-defense inconsistent. Having another guard at her back was a boon, not a slight.

 _And Aro would not send someone whose loyalty he doubted_ , she reminds him carefully.

Edward bows his head, squeezing her hand gently. _I trust your judgment_ , he finally acquiesces.

And he does - but that doesn't mean that he trusted any of _them_. It was a deeply-ingrained instinct - the drive to protect his mate in whatever form that manifested. And yet Edward had learned to balance that with the respect Bella demanded. As much as he wanted to hide her away and protect her from the world outside of his arms, he had come to understand that her free will was immutable and her slow-to-anger nature should not be tested. And she, too, had learned to find a balance, to see his point of view, to take into consideration his feelings, all without compromising her ability to choose for herself. She was thankful for the openness in communication paved by her gift.

Bella's shoulders drop in relief. "Great. Well, if that's all, I think I'm going to sleep, now. Jasper's training with the wolves starts bright and early tomorrow, so you'll be able to assess our current strategy then," she says to the guards, even as she leans into Charlie for a hug, pressing a kiss to Edward's cheek in a farewell that would last only as long as it took him to store his car in the Cullen garage and run back to Bella's room.

"And until then, Mistress Bella?" Dimitri's deep voice rumbles lazily as he leans like a big cat against one of the shadowed walls of the living room.

She bites her tongue against correcting him, pausing at the foot of the stairs. Jane is already following her - as the lone female, it made sense that she would act as night-guard and probably followed orders directly from Aro - and Felix is still holding the crate. She sighs again. "You can just put that in the kitchen," she says to Felix and then more broadly, "Make yourselves at home for the next four hours."

"Four?" Jane questions placidly as she trails her on the stairs, expression like a stone mask. "I would have thought half-breeds needed more rest, just like humans."

Bella looks at her over her shoulder as she slips into her bedroom, gathering toiletries and pajamas even as she plucks pins from her hair to drop onto the desk. "Four hours is more than enough for me," she says plainly.

"Hn."

Swiftly washing her face and trading her dress for a cotton camisole and shorts, Bella runs her fingers through her hair and makes her way back into her bedroom; she can hear some low murmuring downstairs as Charlie holds a particularly awkward conversation with Dimitri and Felix about how they became guards in the Volturi. Felix is affable enough to entertain the question; Dimitri simply disappears outside, much to Bella's quiet amusement.

In her room, Jane is still statue-still near her bookcase, observing the room with shadowed vermilion eyes. It isn't until Bella has pulled her bedcovers over her body and placed a square of chocolate on her tongue that Jane says, "I have seen Mistress Sulpicia with those flowers."

Bella follows Jane's gaze to the porcelain-and-glass flowers that she has received from her grandmother over the course of her life, intricate pieces of artwork that are scattered around her room - desk, windowsill, nightstand, bookshelf. She isn't sure what to say about Jane's observation, though.

"They are very beautiful," Jane utters after Bella's stay of silence.

She smiles, laying back. "Yes, they are." Then, seeing that Jane has still not moved, she says, "You're welcome to sit at the desk or go downstairs, if you would like."

Jane stiffens. "I have no need of human comforts."

 _Well_ , Bella thinks with a restrained sigh. _There's really no arguing with that_.

She is tired enough that she is already on the cusp of sleep when the muted thud of Edward's arrival via her window filters into her ears - and then immediately following that is a series of hisses between Jane and Edward as each argues the other's presence. It goes on long enough that she tosses a small pillow from her bed blindly in their direction. "I don't care what Grandfather will say, Jane," she mutters into her sheets. "Edward stays with me while I sleep."

"It's improper."

"It's Jane's orders directly from Aro," Edward corrects irritably.

 _Half a world away and trying to protect my virtue - oh, my God!_ Bella rises onto her elbow with a huff. "Seriously?"

Jane smirks.

Bella drops down, face planted firmly into her pillow. She mumbles her mate's name and he must understand that he's being beckoned forward because as soon as he is close enough, her hand flashes out to seize his wrist, tugging him firmly down to sit on her bed. "I'm going to sleep, now," she declares into the pillow, forcefully tuning out whatever vampire battle of wills is taking place as she drifts into slumber.

She really hadn't thought her Prom Night would be so eventful.

Or at least - she thought it would be eventful in _another_ way.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella wakes in the morning curled around Edward's back while he sits straight on the edge of her bed, her knees bumping against his thigh, stomach pressed against his spine, and her hands cuddling one of his against her face. She is receiving a steady flow of her lullaby from the crystalline chaos of his mind, along with a jumble of other sensory input as he realizes that she has joined the land of the living. Or the land of the quasi-living, as it were.

She opens her eyes. It's still pre-dawn outside and it seems like nobody has moved a muscle since she went to sleep, with the exception of Charlie, who is snoring away in his bedroom; Jane is still standing where last she saw her, Edward is immobile, and she assumes that Felix and Dimitri have returned to living room, as vampires were generally not fond of kitchens.

Bella pats at Edward's forearm, silently requesting coffee, and he bends to press a kiss to her temple before jotting from the room with vampire-speed. She soon hears the tell-tale sounds of water and scooping coffee and the metallic tinkering of her thermoses being set out, one from the refrigerator and one from the cabinet.

She stands, stretching as she goes to the closet to select her clothes, content in the quiet morning as Jane observes her, shadowing Bella to stand outside of the bathroom door while she showers. Bella isn't altogether sure how much she _likes_ having a guard and she suspects that Jane is irked to be reduced to actual _guard-duty_ , but there is no tension in the air. Edward and Jane had, at some point in the night, concluded their stare-off without reservation. More likely than not, Edward had probably read something in Jane's thoughts that soothed his automatic distrust of the vampires that would now be following his mate, which could only be a good thing because Edward's hard-headedness could border on self-righteous and Bella was too stressed with the Victoria situation to also mediate her home-life. She did quite enough of that between the Cullens and the Quileute wolves.

Bella doesn't bother to dress for the weather, which has bothered her less and less since her change. Instead, she dresses for training and that means dark clothes in layers; black shorts with a black tank-top under a high-necked raisin-purple tank, a licorice-hued zip-up hoodie, tall slate socks, and her trusty Doc Martens with her wet hair piled firmly on top of her head. She scoots past Jane to snatch her canvas tote off the floor of her room, snagging a random book off her shelf to add to the one that she is almost finished with - _Heart of Darkness_ \- and then trots downstairs to the kitchen, doing her best to assume a sense of normalcy.

She ignores the curious gaze of the Volturi vampires as she fixes her coffee, which is half over-strong sludge and half bear-blood courtesy of Edward's last hunt for her kitchen stores. Edward ghosts around the kitchen, adding bottles of water to her bag and a few human snacks - oranges, apples, and bananas - should Bella be hungry at any point during the day, which they knew from experience she would be. The more energy she spent training, the more she would have to replace that energy - sleeping, food, and blood all in equal measure to be operating on her top level. Still, she would need fresh blood soon.

"We should hunt on the way home," she murmurs, the first break in silence of the morning.

Edward shoulders the bag with a nod. "Large game?"

She tosses him a wry glance. "Why, so you can keep your score over Jasper?"

"I would never have such an obvious ulterior motive, love," he insists, holding the back door open for her after she has scrawled a note to Charlie on the chalkboard in the kitchen. _Gone training. Be back soon._

"Of course not," she snorts indelicately.

Edward reaches for her hand, twining their fingers together, and then they are off like a shot, running at near top-speed with three vampires on their tail. The baseball field is not more than a five minute run away from Bella's house now that she can keep up and when they arrive, the field is already crowded with the wolves on one side and the vampires on the other. Nobody looks shocked at the presence of Volturi vampires at their back, likely thanks to Alice, but neither do many of them - especially Jasper, Tanya and her sisters, and the wolves - look pleased to see them.

Bella doesn't stop running until she is in front of Jasper. She detangles from Edward, then holds her hand out palm facing upward, waiting for Jasper to receive the flux of her thoughts, which he does with a grimace. During the course of her run to the baseball field, she has been thinking of the best uses for each of them. "What do you think?" she asks, curling her hand away from the Major's.

He eyes them over her shoulder. "With their skills, I wouldn't suggest anythin' else."

She nods, then turns to face the three guards. Just because they are at her sole discretion in terms of deployment doesn't mean that the test isn't unnerving; she's painfully aware that each of her decisions will be related directly to Aro, Marcus, and Caius for evaluation. She doesn't want to make a single misstep and with that in mind, she straightens her shoulders and takes on a tone of authority. "So, to best utilize each of you, here's what's going to happen. Felix, because your strength is closest to a newborn, you will be assisting Jasper in getting the wolves and some of the others up to speed. Jane, I think it's best if you assist in the training of my gift. And Dimitri, you will take the place of Emmett and Rosalie in Seattle; they are keeping an eye on Victoria's movements and also liaising with a spy we have sent into the ranks, Laurent, who you will also be keeping tabs on. Here," she says, holding her hand out again. "This is what he looks like and all information we have on the situation to date."

A queer gleam enters his eye as he pauses for a moment - but then he settles his hand against hers and she understands. It was _odd_ seeing such a familiar gesture of Aro's performed by someone else. Bella suppresses a smile as she pushes her thoughts forward, startling Dimitri for a moment. It was a good reminder that her two-way touch telepathy was decidedly unique to vampires unfamiliar with her. Bella gives Dimitri all of the pertinent information, then does a cursory glance about his mind, wondering at the sharp focus behind the bored façade, the scattering of Romanian still thick in his thoughts if not in his speech, the ability to-

And then she pauses with a frown.

"Bella?"

Her eyes open - she hadn't realized she closed them - and she looks at Edward with barely-restrained shock. Then she shakes her head, calling for Eleazar because she's certain that she has just found something in Dimitri's mind that had been overlooked for centuries. She doesn't release Dimitri's loose grip as she extends her other hand to Eleazar, tugging the retired guard into Dimitri's mind to show him that little cloister of untapped potential that lingered deep within the recesses of Dimitri's preternatural ability to find anyone, anywhere, anytime.

 _Did you know_? She asks both of them.

Eleazar radiates amazement and Dimitri is broadly surprised.

Bella drops her hand, a dotty smile spreading across her face. "Maybe you should wait a few days before you go, Dimitri," she suggests.

"Why? What is it?" Jasper asks, eyeing him warily.

She shakes her head in bemusement. "He has a second gift," she says. "He's had it all along, actually."

"Yes," Eleazar agrees delightfully. "Or at least the potential for one. It's so insignificant that I missed it entirely."

"Explain," Jane orders coolly.

"I can hide my scent," Dimitri explains slowly. "I can…learn to mask it."

"Right," says Eleazar thoughtfully. "It's a wonder that Aro did not - ah. Well, of course he wouldn't have known if I didn't know. Aro can only read thoughts and I can only sense the way powers work. Dimitri's tracking ability is so dominant over the other that it escaped my notice entirely…But Isabella, you were able to see it…"

"I apologize." Bella drops her eyes for a moment. "I went deeper into your mind then I intended," she says to Dimitri.

Felix whistles lowly. "What is your gift, Mistress Bella?"

"Complicated," she laments with a sigh. "Way more complicated than we thought."

Jasper crosses his arms. "Is it offensive?"

Bella shakes her head, having already reached the conclusion that he is edging toward. She senses a tinge of copper in her nose, which she sniffles back before it can drip down. "No - it's not even defensive. Just there, a latent tangent from the absorption. I'll learn how to deal with _that_ aspect after this is all over. Offensive abilities take first priority."

Edward runs a hand down her back, quietly supportive and surely sensing that she's unsettled by the depth of her ability - just now, in touching Dimitri, she obviously hadn't been in full control. She could have really hurt him. She's lucky that she had made a discovery rather than actually take some bit of his mind with her. Her gift being somewhat unpredictable in the face of new minds was more obvious with gifted vampires; she suspects that part of her is always seeking other gifts, trying to make them her own, while another part of her is actively preventing that from happening. Very troublesome, especially as her control wavered by the day, temperamental because of so many other factors.

"If that's the case…" Jasper says leadingly, obviously intent on militarizing the day.

Bella nods, grappling for the authoritative tone again at his prompting. "Right. Dimitri, it's your choice whether you go to Seattle now or work with Eleazar to unearth that new ability of yours. It doesn't matter to me either way."

And with that, the first Saturday of June begins in a flurry of activity as Bella continues training with Kate and Mele, as Dimitri starts honing his new gift with Eleazar, and as Jasper ropes Felix into assisting with fighting techniques against newborn strength, instructing both the Denali and Cullen covens and the Quileute wolves.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Perhaps because of his association with the Volturi - or perhaps because the latency of his secondary gift was easy to activate - Dimitri takes to masking his scent like a bird takes to the sky. Less than ten hours under Eleazar's guidance, something which was easy to give now that he knew what to look for after Bella had found it, and Dimitri is able to willfully hide his scent for long stretches of time.

It is somewhat illuminating to learn that in practicing this new skill, the disappearance of Dimitri's scent was more than once overwhelmingly distracting for Felix. And at first, Bella does not understand, not until a flash of fleeting thought from Dimitri's mind wells in the corner of her attention, an awareness that she had overlooked before when she touched him but that comes back in full-force now - and she has to suppress a smile. Of course Felix would be bothered by his mate's scent disappearing over and over, especially given how much vampires relied on scent.

And how very like Aro, perhaps even Uncle Marcus, to take subtle measures in ensuring that mates would stay together on assignment - because although Felix and Dimitri were far from obvious, now that Bella had been clued in, it was impossible to miss. They were kind of sweet, actually. Like a stone wall and the graffiti painted across it.

Dimitri departs to Seattle before the sun begins to set in the baseball clearing.

 _And now we wait_ , she thinks on the run home, bone-tired from the day of training with traces of blood crusted on her upper lip. She puts little to no effort in her hunt, taking down the first kill she can find and draining it dry. Fresh blood coursing through her system does something to fill the pit of anxiety fluttering in her stomach, as does the simple comfort of Edward's presence at her side, and later in her bed and under Jane's cold, watchful eye.

But still - Bella is terrified that there is a very real possibility that happening upon Dimitri's second gift was evidence that so much close contact with Eleazar had transferred aspects of his gift to her. Logic dictates that this possibility is far more likely than anything else. Eleazar's ability coupled with Mele's and paired with aspects of Aro's are now firmly within her grasp. She knows this, unerringly. The only question would be for how long Eleazar's shadow stayed within her reach - if it was temporary or not.

So far, she hadn't seemed to absorb Kate's gift, but maybe that was because Kate's gift was purely offensive, whereas Bella's own gifts - the absorption, the shields - were relatively neutral in nature. And if she had absorbed Edward's, for his was the only other contact that remained prolonged, then she was largely unable to tell, given the default settings of her own. Without experimenting with Alice or Jasper - who she had not touched for more than a flicker of a second in the entire time they'd known each other - could a definitive answer be reached?

She didn't know. She didn't think there was a way _to_ know for certain - not without entire lifetimes to reach a conclusion.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"So, we're fucked," is what Emmett says by way of greeting the next morning once everyone - except for the wolves, who were scheduled to patrol for another hour - has arrived to the baseball field. He is still in the clothes he left in and if he has any surprise to the new companions at Bella's side, then she must give credit where it is due because nothing in his expression gives it away. It is too easy to relegate Emmett to the position of jester when it is clear his comic relief is a smokescreen for his bluntness. His is a presence not easily ignored in the clearing, equally as large and intimidating as Felix and probably nearly as strong.

Rosalie, statuesque and stunning, flips her hair over her shoulders, brows furrowed in discontent. "The newborns have grown in number. Pushing twenty when we left, but that number could change. A few were still turning and the warehouse they're all holed up in is a breeding ground for violence. Every time a newborn is killed by another, she goes and bites a human."

"'Course, that patterns been changing," Emmett intones darkly. "Now, one dead newborn equals two fresh humans burning through the change."

"Christ," Jasper curses in a growl, prowling on the edges of the clearing. Even without Edward's long-range telepathy, Bella understands that Major Whitlock is altering plans at high speed. It's evident enough from the way Alice seats herself on a rock, forehead pressed against her palms, surely roving the future for other things her visions have missed. "Haven't heard numbers like that since the damn Southern Wars."

"Neither have I," Jane chirps, oddly bright. It takes a moment for Bella to put two and two together and conclude that Jane is looking forward to the fight numbers like that promises. Just the notion of it turns Bella's stomach; to _welcome_ the opportunity of violence is deeply disconcerting for her, who would only resort to the actions in her near-future for the sake of protecting her mate and her family.

Carlisle appears greatly perturbed. "How can one sire manage so many newborns?"

"A partner," Mele responds promptly from the sidelines.

Bella hasn't had time to look through the detailed records Sulpicia had sent from the Volturi logs, although she has moved the crate to the foot of her bed and intends to sort through the leather-bound books as soon as possible. But because she is still largely ignorant, she looks to Jasper. "Wasn't that how the Southern Wars were managed? A few senior vampires over many fledglings?"

He nods, curly blonde hair shivering in the drizzling breeze, face tilted downward in shame. "That was my role - and I had a Lieutenant for myself, too."

"Well, did it look like Victoria had a Lieutenant?" Bella asks the returning vampires.

Emmett snorts. "You mean aside from Laurent?" He holds his hands up in response to Irina's scathing hiss, backtracking to clarify. "I mean, he's doing exactly what you asked him to, playing second fiddle to Victoria's crazy. I think he's only turned one - saved her, actually, from being dinner. It was a mercy. She doesn't leave his side, though, and she's too young and small to be dealing with other newborns."

"There is another," Rosalie says. "But she stays in the shadows, for the most part. I get the sense she's the devil on Victoria's shoulder, but I don't understand why. She keeps to herself. Laurent doesn't know much about her, so neither do we."

"Have you see her?" Edward asks, head tilted in attention.

"Briefly," Rosalie responds, seeming to pull up an image from her memory banks so Edward could see.

Bella watches his face for any trace of recognition, but he just frowns. "I don't recognize her," he says and because of his ability, that means that he hasn't seen her in the eyes of his coven-mates, either. Or if they had seen her, it was possible that they didn't realize she was a vampire and so hadn't paid attention; or perhaps they just hadn't thought of her in Edward's presence. The possibilities - the limitations - were endless.

"May I?" Bella holds out her hand and Edward's mind opens beneath her touch, already offering the image that he had plucked from Rosalie's memory.

To be fair to the fuzziness of the image, Rosalie had been too far for even vampire eyesight to get a clear view and obviously too removed to catch any meaningful scent, especially in a city as clogged as Seattle and in such a location so near the briny docks. What is clear, though, is the rich tan that had managed to shine through the ashen tone brought on by the change, a swirl of dark hair, and a slight body with a fairly obvious scattering of scars over one side of her face, half of her right eyebrow thinned into a permanent inquisitive arch. The memory is of the female vampire disappearing into the back entrance of the warehouse; it was nothing more than a lucky glimpse and obviously something Emmett had missed.

"Well," Bella sighs, pulling her hand away but leaving it raised with her palm open. "One of you might be able to recognize her. Who wants to go first?"

Carlisle sets a good example, quickly followed by Esme, and both shake their heads to the negative. Carmen is next. Then Eleazar and while he pauses for a moment, digesting the image, he ultimately decides that the vampire is unfamiliar to him. Bella feels frustration wafting from Jasper's direction, potent enough that it begins to affect the group - and so she thrusts her hand in his direction -

And Alice gasps -

And then Jasper curses a blue streak after catching the image, growling like thunder as he streaks over to Alice protectively.

Bella snatches her hand back, pulling her sweatshirt sleeve over her skin, and then looks up at Edward in bewilderment. "What? What is it?"

Edward blinks, a slightly dazed cast to his eyes as he follows the rapid-fire of Jasper's thoughts. "Maria," he mutters after a moment, lip curling in a dark expression of vitriol. "He never thinks about her, not often, but I should have recognized her. I might have if that scar on her face wasn't so new…"

Bella shakes her head. "I don't understand. Who is Maria?"

"His sire," he explains lowly.

 _Oh_. Well, that at least explained the reaction. She would have to get the full story later - the most she knew about Jasper's past was his role in the Southern Wars, but not any details that meant anything. She'd only just learned _that day_ that he'd had a Lieutenant.

"Either calm yourself down or I will do it for you," Jane snaps at Jasper, apparently fed up with his vampire-quick muttering tirade and the feral outpour of emotions from his gift.

Jasper snarls at her, but is soon soothed by Alice's hands running through his hair. He closes his eyes, gathering himself. "It's no accident that Maria is with Victoria," he says eventually. And having everyone's attention already, he continues to extrapolate, using his experience with his sire to paint a very terrifying picture that was entirely plausible. "Maria could care less about Victoria's vengeance. My best guess is that she wants the Olympic territory - the Cullen territory, and then the Denali's and any other covens in between - to get a foothold in the North and start a new era of vampire warfare to relive the good old days in the South. Never sat right with her that she couldn't make the wars move higher than Oklahoma."

And just like that, all the plans that she and Jasper and Sam have made begin to crumble. Because there's no way that they can fight the same way when there was an experienced war-mongered vampire on the opposing side. All of their planning had hinged on the idea that Victoria was unpredictable, that she was uncharted and therefore easier to trick. But with Maria, everything must change. Jasper's loose battle strategy, Sam's wolf formation, even Bella and Edward's psychic-sanctioned lure - none of it was adequate.

They weren't up to snuff.

And now it was more apparent than ever that they were running out of time to prepare.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The first Sunday in June is dedicated to recruitment. Everyone is putting in calls for aid - Carlisle to various covens he knows around the world with Esme and Edward's assistance, Eleazar to the myriad of vampires he has met, the Denali sisters, Emmett, and Rosalie to nomads they have befriended, and Jasper to his old Lieutenant with Alice's thin arms wrapped around his torso for support.

Bella, too, places a request for aid - for _official_ aid that she is almost positive she is entitled to request. She instructs Jane to call the Volturi through the direct line all guards have and is met with a droll stare. "You might want to be specific, _Mistress_ ," says Jane pitilessly.

Bella bites the inside of her lip, turning in a circle. She looks up and catches Mele's eyes - and then she remembers, through the hot ball of slow panic building behind her sternum that she is and always has been _sensible_. Logical. What would Sun Tzu do? What would Aro do? What would _Bella Swan_ do?

"Request whoever has the most powerful long-range gift," she instructs firmly. "Someone who can take down as many as possible at one time."

Jane smirks, but there is a glint in her eye that smacks of approval. She places the call, blurring into the tree line in a swath of black cloak as she utters into a slim black phone that she pulled out of thin air.

Bella looks at Felix, one brow arched in askance and wincing at the hesitant question that tumbles out of her mouth. "You guys do have someone like that, right?"

He laughs.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Sitting for her exams passes in a series of autonomous moments - she reads the questions, pencils in the correct answers, and promptly forgets that she had even taken a test. There's so much to think about, things that are _actually_ important. She sits in the classrooms at Forks High, gazing at all the oblivious teenagers, and feels the weight of their safety on her shoulders. Their ability to continue to live their lives, to have futures, is her responsibility.

If Bella failed, if she misstepped even once, then where would any of these humans be in a month? In three months? In a year?

She doesn't understand how the Volturi can be so removed from this, whiling hours away in their Italian castle and waiting to be solicited for assistance - all while knowing that there are vampires with malicious intent just circling humans like sharks smelling blood in the water. Unimaginable, really. How will their world-order look when there are more hybrids, when the barriers between mortal and immortal have been removed?

It's the first time Bella has put that kind of responsibility into any context. She feels it more acutely because of the measures she has taken recently, embracing her place as Aro's granddaughter and consulting on _battle plans_ as if she had any real authority in the matter. But she can't deny what she's known to be true the moment Aro and Sulpicia breezed into the Cullen living room over winter break.

This was her destiny. She's said as much to Edward, knowing that her declaration would drag him along with her despite his mistrust of the vampire governing body. And she's all but sealed her fate with her actions, which is why she feels the value of these human lives so keenly.

It is all very daunting.

But she pushes on, trudging toward the inevitable finish line as the days lap over each other, the first week of June passing in a series of strategic meetings with Jasper and Sam at night, her time after school vacillating between Eleazar's training and hunting. Her only reprieve in the day is school, which is the only time she and Edward can find each other - and now that has been taken away, too.

Because Bella is graduating.

And when the day of the ceremony dawns in the middle of June's second week, she strangely feels that she is more than graduating high school - she's graduating from her human life, too.

It is very much like prom in the sense that Bella's attachment to the event isn't whole. She goes through the motions for Charlie, her mind a million miles away. Renee and Phil are unable to make the ceremony, which is probably for the best considering Bella's aesthetic alterations. She wears a truly hideous maroon cap and gown, poses for the pictures, and waits for her name to be called after the valedictorian make his speech; she should have been speaking on that stage, but she'd rejected the offer and the student with the second-best grades got the honor instead. She didn't care. All that _really_ mattered was Charlie being able to see her trot across that stage, shift the dangling tassel to the other side of the cap, and take her diploma. It was a human memory that she was giving him, even if her heart wasn't in it the way it _should_ have been.

Charlie seems to understand her dissonance. He hugs her after the ceremony, his mind ripe with a cleansing coolness that feels an awful lot like permission - to move on, to grow up, to become the person that she was always meant to be and the person that she was well on her way to being already.

She holds onto her father with a flare of desperation, a renewed sense of urgent apprehension in her mind, in her gut.

Charlie was another life that was depending on her decisions, now.

Bella isn't Atlas - and yet there is the weight of the world all around her, beating in the hearts of a thousand humans, present in the ghosts of people killed in Victoria's senseless vendetta.

She removes her cap, twirling it slowly between her hands as she trails Charlie to the cruiser. He's taking her to The Lodge for a celebration dinner of blue steak and twice-baked potatoes. Somehow, over that dinner, her constant anxiety over the situation hardens into steadfast determination.

She's tired of planning - tired of waiting for that other shoe to drop.

Bella is going to tear that shoe off herself and throw it directly into the fire.

It's time.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

As if her new sense of preparedness had flipped some cosmic switch, the rest of the second week in June is a vortex of events that quickly swirls into an inability to truly track the days in the face of everything going on.

The first thing that happens is that Leah Clearwater does the previously-impossible and phases into a werewolf, breaking every rule of Quileute legends as they were understood. And she's an angry wolf, fierce and vibrating with resentment. She hates Sam. Edward thinks that she has good reason to and Bella is inclined to agree, because nothing about the love triangle between Sam, Leah, and her cousin Emily was handled well - not that it's any of Bella's business. But she files away Leah's rage, wondering if there was something she could do to help in the future. For now, it is enough that Leah is more than eager to rip into enemy vampires and she picks up Jasper's training more quickly than any of the wolves, pinning Felix on her first day.

Bella tells her that she is glorious and Leah, in her wolf form, huffs in some semblance of agreement bolstered by confidence that came with the knowledge of being completely lethal.

The second, third, fourth, and so on things? Those are dedicated to the arrival of a total eleven vampires willing to throw down for the Cullens and Denalis - and all who are strangely wary of the Volturi guards that are ever-present with Bella. Not for the first time, she wonders at Aro's sense of power, more and more certain that he has severely overestimated how much influence he has. Another thing to fix when she had the time.

The Irish coven - Liam, Siobhan, and Maggie - along with the European nomads - Alistair, Charles, and Makenna - all arrive on the same day with a good-natured conversation on who had run fastest from the airport in Portland that still continues even as they unerringly find the Cullen house deep in the woods. All with the exception of Alistair, of course, who while exceptionally good-looking and with a physical age close to late-teens, seems rather droll, almost dour as he droops in the background, staying in the shadows with a cynical edge that keeps him remote from everyone. The excitement of the other's is effective enough to distract attention from him and Bella promptly allows her eyes to pass over him without additional comment. She is intrigued by the gifts of Maggie and Siobhan when she learns of them and is entertained by the way Makenna seems to gravitate toward Rosalie as if the two are old friends.

She almost forgets completely about Alistair until Edward stiffens with surprise at her side. Instead of asking out loud and drawing attention to them, she brushes her fingers over his knuckles, then bites her lip to retain her surprise _. Oh_. It hadn't been Alistair that caught Edward's attention - it had been Jane. Jane's thoughts, which linger with a familiar obsession as she watches Alistair from afar. An obsession that Bella knows well, actually.

She doesn't say anything, though she does hold Edward's hand and wait for Alistair to notice Jane's covert attention. He never does, too cloistered by his own company and too busy snapping at Carlisle about this or that topic that seems to be an extension of some old argument they have been having for ages.

Bella looks at Jane beneath her lashes, considering the situation. A third thing to fix, then.

The American nomads - Mary, Randall, Garrett - arrive next and each express their wariness about newborn armies. While they had not seen the Southern Wars themselves, they have each heard of them; and Garrett in particular has a long history of self-imposed responsibility taking out orphaned newborns who can't be taught control. He is drawn to Kate without reservation, seemingly enthralled by her ability to take him down with nothing more than a touch. He laughs and asks her to do it again, much to her bafflement.

The single reinforcement called by Jane turns out to be her twin brother, Alec, who is only scant inches taller and has a sardonic air that rivals the sadistic twinge of Jane's general disposition. To Bella's discomfort, he makes a show of bowing to her, lips twisted as he calls her _Mistress Isabella_. Unfortunately, unlike Felix and recently Jane, she doesn't have any luck in getting Alec to refer to her informally - not even a little bit - though she also has the sense that his refusal is for his own entertainment. She soon learns that Alec's gift is not all that different from Jane's, simply the opposite side of the coin; while Jane can inflict the illusion of pain, ramping senses to a violent level of awareness, Alec's ability is a total sensory deprivation and, as it turns out, both long-range and widespread. Frightening, but very, very useful.

However, he doesn't endear himself to anyone when his first comments are idle complaints about the stench of the wolves and to express his incredulity that their allies would be _ravenous beasts_ because apparently Caius of the Volturi would not _stand for such a slight_. Bella is quick to reprimand him. "I'll remind you that _I_ am the niece of Caius," she says sharply. "The wolves are off-limits, but I will be more than happy to deal with any fallout that should occur with my uncle."

Alec appraises her with a tilt of his head, but says nothing in return, which is probably for the best.

Later, Sam will thank her for extending her political protection to the Quileute wolves, to which Bella will respond with a wave of her hand. It was nothing more than what she owed them, after all. Half of the teenage boys on the reservation were experiencing high tempers and worrying growth spurts and Sam hadn't made it a secret that it would become a serious issue if this vampire thing wasn't dealt with sooner rather than later.

The last to arrive is Peter, the old Lieutenant of Jasper's, and his mate Charlotte. Peter is nearly as scarred as Jasper and while Charlotte's scars are less in number, Bella has the sense that the sweet-faced female vampire is not to be contended. With their arrival, the air at the Cullen house returns to tension as just the sight of Peter is enough to remind Jasper of the _reason_ they have all gathered.

Just by looking at the military precision of the trio's posture, Bella is also reminded. This is no friendly reunion.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

In the days that follow, Bella pushes her abilities with a stalwart determination. "I can go again," she huffs, locking her knees so as to not fall down from this strange sense of mental exhaustion that is running rampant over her awareness. She turns her serious gaze to Eleazar, who is hesitating.

He has been working with Bella with control of her secondary shield as both she and Jasper had agreed that with Alec's arrival it was more of a priority to keep _their_ side safe from his power, especially since they were asking him to subdue what is currently a count of twenty-three newborn vampires, something that Alec had reluctantly admitted was a bit more than he was used to. It was a good plan, though, if Bella could just _extend_ \- but it goes against everything in her to make that shield bubble outward. Like ripping hair from her roots one stand at a time.

She grits her teeth, looking at Kate instead. "I _can_ ," Bella insists, holding her elbow out again. The exercise was a simple one. Kate would turn on her shocking ability and then attempt to lower her hand to Bella's skin; the goal was for Bella's shield to nullify the electricity by the time Kate touched her.

Simple in theory, not so simple in execution. With Bella forcefully locking away her natural ability to absorb Kate's energy, she is leaving herself open like a raw nerve every time Kate touches her. Bella is essentially trying to juggle and tap-dance at the same time - shut down one gift, expand the other. Very hard.

Mele shakes her head from the sidelines, an uncharacteristic furrow of concern on her brow. "You need a break, _mtoto_."

"Not until I get it right," Bella snaps stubbornly. "Kate. Again."

Kate grimaces, but does as she is bid, wincing when Bella falters as she fails - once again - to extend the second shield out from her skin. Bella pants, her teeth aching to sink into something hot and coppery to soothe the weariness in her bones, in her body.

"Oh, for the love of Selene," Jane gripes from the side, dropping her cloak onto the ground as she marches forward to glare down her nose at Bella. "It can't be that hard. You're just not properly motivated."

And then Jane does the unthinkable - does the _expressly forbidden_. She turns her devilish gaze onto Edward, who is watching Bella's training tersely beside Eleazar, and sneers in pain-riddled contempt.

Edward snarls in agony, dropping to his knees, effectively drawing the attention from the entire clearing to him - to this scene that will be forever burned in Bella's memory for in the next moment, something in her mind, some barrier that she has been too hesitant to release, _snaps_. And like breath punched out of her lungs, her second shield springs forward around her mate as she hisses through her teeth.

Edward's pain stops. Bella _barely_ restrains herself from reaching for Jane's hand and _draining her to the core_. It is a very near thing.

Jane lowers her gaze after a moment. "There," she says. "Now you can do it."

And while her method is _completely shitty_ -

Bella can do it now. She knows, instinctively, that her second shield is never going to have another problem again in doing what Bella demands of it. Still, that doesn't stop her from lividly hissing, _"_ Leave my sight _now_."

And for the first time, Bella understands that if she wants to be, she can be truly dangerous - because Jane blurs away without a moment of protest, disappearing from view in a nanosecond, and even Mele backtracks from her approach. Bella wonders what she looks like as she shifts to Edward's side. Her eyes must be crazed and wide, her hair a wreck as she cups the sharp angle of his jaw between her palms, quietly assessing his wellness.

 _I'm uninjured, love. I'm fine_ , Edward thinks soothingly - and in his mind are memories of his own fretting over her, something so driven by instincts to _protect mate_ , something that he had been feeling for months in the face of the uncertainty. He has already forgotten the feeling of pain that had poured acid-hot over his nerve endings. Edward kisses the corner of her mouth, thinking, _I'm fine_ in repetition until it truly sinks in for Bella.

He's fine. Of course he is. Jane's ability is an _illusion_ of pain. That doesn't make it any easier to witness, though it does make it easier to reconcile.

Jane hadn't really hurt her mate - and so she is forgiven for her actions in short order. They had served a purpose and so _this time_ it is okay. There is no guarantee that Bella would be so quick to understand Jane's motivations.

Still, as ever, Bella is sensible. She stands again, rolling her neck, aware of all the eyes trained on her with apprehension as she turns her focus to Alec. "Begin," she orders sternly. "Try to get as many as possible."

Alec acquiesces - and Bella shields everyone, easy as a thought.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Later, she finds Jane listening to EDM music up in a tree - rather shocking, actually, that Jane would enjoy _Freezepop_ \- and thanks her for her intervention. Jane watches her with a vermilion gaze, then nods stoically.

"It had to be done," she says, then almost carefully adds. "Most people would be enraged - most _are_ enraged - when I target their mates."

"Oh, I was," Bella says flatly, not bothering the hide the flare of the insidious shadow lurking in its cage, just waiting to be unleashed, and feeling a thrill of sick glee when Jane responds with a moderate leeriness in her posture. "I could have killed you, really, and I might if you ever dare do that again without provocation."

"Yet you didn't retaliate," Jane observes.

"No, I didn't. Because you did me a favor in your own twisted little way and I can appreciate cunning when I see it."

Jane stares at her with bemusement. "You truly are quite a lot like Master Aro."

"I am," Bella agrees with a casual shrug. And then she points out that Alistair hadn't been able to take his eyes off of Jane's retreat, smiling inwardly at the way Jane scowls in embarrassment.

And maybe it's because Bella sees something familiar in Jane, something of herself, but she can't help liking the other vampire. She's pretty sure that Jane likes her, too, which is probably rare for Jane who has had centuries of holding herself away from the world - of living day in and day out with a darkness in her mind that Bella feels in herself as well.

She will understand later that this is the start of a certain kind of enduring friendship.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"We're agreed, then," Jasper intones several nights later, arms crossed over his chest as he stands - with Bella and Sam - in the middle of the baseball clearing with the assortment of their allies gathered in a loose formation around them, all ears trained on clarifying the final details.

They have been discussing the final version of their plan, a bait-and-switch variety that played directly into enemy hands. A straight-forward plan, but flexible enough that it was almost certain that they would be successful. All of their information was up to date with Dimitri's frequent reports to Bella - the newborn army had settled at an uneasy twenty-six vampires and Victoria seemed to grow more restless by the day. It was time.

Sam, in his human form, shifts on his feet, his scent catching on the wind. She does her best not to wrinkle her nose because she respects Sam and he can't help that he smells like rangy, wet dog to vampires - and even hybrids smell like overly-ripened fruit to the werewolf nose. He catches her reaction though, the corner of his mouth kicking up in amusement. "Sunday morning," he confirms.

"We'll have cloud cover and a thunderstorm over the Olympic range," Bella reiterates. "Weather won't be changing, according to Alice."

"And the lure?" Jasper asks.

They all ignore Edward's displeased hiss, Bella with a bit more difficulty. She plucks at her flannel shirt. "We'll send this off with Irina in about an hour," she says, then looks over her shoulder at the vampire in question.

Irina nods, stepping away from her sisters. "I'll take the shirt to Laurent," she continues, confident in her role. "As far as Victoria and Maria will be concerned, I have defected from your ranks to be with my mate - and I will pass along the information that all of the vampires will be in this clearing on Sunday, saying nothing of the wolves."

Sam speaks up again, taking the torch as they all take turns relaying this plan. "The pack will be on the south side of the clearing, beneath the mountain."

"Alec and Jane on the west end up in the trees, the covens gathered toward the north side waiting for my signal," says Jasper.

Bella sighs with a self-effacing smile. "And Edward and I leaving a trail of my scent from the east to bait the newborns right where we want them."

The plan is a good one. Everyone is satisfied; everyone has a role to play. Well, everyone aside from Edward, who was not best pleased at all that Bella would be used as bait. It had been a long discussion between them as they both sought logic over his innate drive to keep her safe, out of harms way. Even if he knew intellectually that Bella was strong enough to take care of herself, to protect herself, it was still a tough pill to swallow - and she felt the same way, wanting him as far away from the action as possible, even though with his telepathy Edward was one of the most skilled fighters they had on their side. They were both needed to end this once and for all. It helped, perhaps, that Felix and Dimitri - when he returned from Seattle the next day - would be at Bella's back the entire time.

That was the plan. That was the compromise.

It had to work.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella calls Aro and winds up leaving a voicemail that rambles through the plan with her tongue tripping over itself to betray her nerves. "Don't - there's nothing to worry about, Grandfather, we _do_ have a plan. But there's so much I'll need to tell you to explain in person and - I'll call you afterward, okay? I love you."

She stares down at the phone after she hangs up.

There's a pinch of anxiety in her stomach and a dull burn in her throat. She needs to hunt, to sleep, and to get through the next twenty-four hours with all of her allies and loved-ones intact. And it seems like these are needs common to everyone as mates and covens disappear into the Olympic territory to prepare themselves for war - many of the human-drinkers, including Jane and Alec, running down to the south of the Washington to solidify their strength - because it is a war that they are about to fight.

No room for error.

"Mountain lion sounds really good," she mutters to herself, slipping from Carlisle's office in search for her mate and the unavoidable presence of Felix, who stuck to her more firmly than glue. Maybe she could talk him into trying the vegetarian diet…

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

There is, of course, a few loose ends. Their top priority is to protect the people of Forks, which is why Carlisle, Esme, Eleazar, and Carmen would be stationed around the hospital and highway just in case any stray newborns got out of the pocket Bella intended to trick them into.

For Bella, though, her father is _her_ main priority in terms of safety. Charlie is stronger than the average human, sure, but he would not stand up to a newborn and they smell similar enough - according to the _everyone_ \- that it was possible that a newborn would become confused and seek out the police station or the Swan household, instead.

And so with that in mind, Bella pulls her father aside. "Dad," she says seriously. "You need to be in La Push this weekend until all of this is over. I'm asking Mele to guard you and the rest of the reservation at the treaty line with Leah Clearwater."

Charlie wants to balk, she can tell. It must be terribly emasculating to receive orders from his own daughter, but he must sense that she will entertain no arguments about this, because he begrudgingly agrees. "But you'll call me as soon as the smoke clears?"

Bella wonders if he knows that he is not speaking in metaphor - then nods, because it was a small request to fulfill, especially after she has asked him to forsake his duty as Chief and trust in vampires to take care of the citizens of his hamlet town in his stead.

"I promise, Dad," she whispers, pulling him into a fierce hug. "As soon as this is all over, you're the first one I'll call."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The night before the battle sees Bella at the Cullen house, admiring the roses of the wrought-iron bedframe he has just finished putting together - a piece of furniture that dominated the room both physically and the implication with how it might be used. She fights down a flush rising on her cheeks. Edward hadn't bought the bed for _that_ \- well, for only _that_. And he'd already endured more than enough ribbing from Emmett when it had arrived that she didn't wish to add any misapprehension.

Edward bought this bed for her - so she could sleep at the Cullen house, more specifically so she could sleep in an area permeated with his scent rather than the spring-cloud linen of the guest room. She appreciates the gesture and says as much as she helps him pull ecru-hued sheets over the mattress, soon followed by a luxurious down comforter in harvest gold with golden metallic geometric print pressed into the silken fabric. That the bed more comfortably fits two bodies than the double-mattress at Charlie's house is beside the point.

 _Or maybe the exact point_ , she mentally corrects as Edward zips around the room, cleaning up cardboard and plastic packaging with an abashed bearing to his shoulders. There's a nervous energy to him that she can't quite place - although she knows it isn't because of what will happen within the next twelve hours. Something else has riddled her mate's mind with anxiety. She's patient, though, and she trusts that he'll clue her in when the time is right.

Bella goes to his bedroom door, greeting Felix and Dimitri - who had returned not an hour earlier - with raised brows. She doesn't try her luck in inquiring to where Jane or Alec are, trusting that Jane had relegated Felix to personal-guard for the time being, maybe because Jane had learned to listen when Bella spoke or because she had something else that required her attention. Right now, it didn't matter to Bella so long as the witch-twins would be at their post come dawn; now, if only she could effectively shoo her other guards away.

Not likely, as much as it pains her to admit it.

"Honestly, you need to hunt," she says to Felix, still a bit baffled that he'd refused even the idea of animal blood earlier in spite of his eyes being so dark they might as well be black cherries set inside his skull. Dimitri isn't faring much better. "Run to Port Angeles for a snack, or something. I'll be fine here."

Felix's lips stretch into a lavish smile. " _Principessa_ , that is exactly my worry - that you will perhaps be _too_ fine," he teases.

She rolls her eyes with a long-suffering sigh. "I thought you were under _my_ orders right now?"

"Yes," Dimitri agrees placidly. "After, of course, direct edicts of Master Aro's are observed."

"Believe me when I say that I have no immediate plans of compromising my virtue," she says pointedly.

"These things are never planned," says Felix.

She ignores him and the burning in her cheeks. "Consider this a new order, then," she tries, gripping the door handled a touch too hard when she hears Edward's muffled laughter from inside the room. "I _demand_ that you both be well-fed for the upcoming battle, so I am sending you away under threat of some kind of punishment that I will be more than happy to invent! Your orders from my Grandfather will just have to be satisfied by a certain psychic in the house who I'm sure would have _no trouble_ at all breaking up any improper moments between myself and my mate."

Felix pretends to hem and haw for a moment, but she knows that she's got him. It helps that sending him away with Dimitri also ensured they had time to reconnect after Dimitri's absence, something which they could not do if they were busy babysitting Aro's half-breed granddaughter. And obviously, with at least ten other vampires in the house, and another six in the immediate surrounding area, there wasn't exactly enough privacy or opportunity to do anything untoward with her mate. Unfortunately.

Dimitri bows his head. "As you say, Mistress. We will make ourselves scarce for the time being."

Bella waits until they have disappeared from the third floor before she closes the door, leaning against it as her head tilts backward with a _thud_ against the wood. Edward is smiling at her as he loiters near his music collection and she wrinkles her nose at in in mock-distaste before grabbing her overnight bag and easing into his bathroom, leaving the door partially open as she swiftly changed into pajamas and braided her hair. Because she has been well-sated by frequent hunts and Esme's cooking of the blood-laced recipes Bella is fond of, all she needs is a good night of sleep to be fully prepared and on top of her game the next day. Though, of course, easier said than done, as she soon discovers that while Edward's new bed is remarkably comfortable, she is too keyed up to sleep if he continues to insist on meandering around his room instead of joining her.

After a half-hour of this nonsense, she sits up and pats the bedding beside her in silent beckoning. Thankfully, he doesn't make her beg for his presence out loud; she can only imagine what Emmett would do with _that_ as cannon-fodder, as if Emmett needed more material to tease anyone with, let alone the only virgins in the house at the moment.

As he settles next to her, Bella turns onto her side to place her head over his sternum, listening to the whisper of breath passing in and out of his lungs beside his eternally-quiet heart. She traces the knuckles on the hand he has placed over his stomach, eliciting a low murmur of pleasure at her touch even as his mind blooms - open, chaotic, utterly beautiful - to her own.

 _They're all fascinated by the idea of you_ , he says after a moment, mind echoing with a hundred different sentiments marveling over the existence of a half-human, half-vampire _anything_ , let alone one that is gifted and seemingly completely functional. The best of both worlds by the estimation of some of their guests.

She taps the backside of his hand. _Do they even realize what it takes to make someone like me exist in the first place?_

 _Liam suspects and Tanya has already asked Esme_ , he admits freely. _But Alistair has put it together himself and the idea is disturbing to him…_

 _It's disturbing to me, too_ , Bella confesses - because it is still true that sometimes her dreams are haunted by the memories she has taken from Aro and Sulpicia's minds, those etchings of human women screaming as their babies claw out of their stomachs, like an actual scene from that horrible _Alien_ movie, or something. And maybe her relatives hadn't cared, but _Bella_ did, and perhaps that was the mark of her humanity in spite of her birthright. Then, thinking again of Alistair, _He trusts the Volturi less because of this, doesn't he_?

 _He doesn't trust anyone, not even Carlisle._

Bella weighs the gravity of that, suddenly saddened by the very thought of not being able to trust even those who were closest to her. But then again, she has a built-in guarantee about truth, doesn't she? Just like other telepaths, or Maggie - and something that Alistair, who had an unspeakably violent introduction into his eternal life, was severely lacking. He was suspicious by nature, more so when confronted with change. _Then this thing with Jane…they are mates, right?_

 _They could be happy. They compliment each other_.

Bella represses a snort at Edward's diplomatic way of saying Alistair is just cynical enough to tolerate Jane's severity. But was it enough? The magnetism mates feel toward each other aside, neither had made any overtures toward each other. Bella wasn't even sure that Jane and Alistair had shared a word, let alone a conversation.

 _Alice isn't worried and neither should you be,_ Edward continues placatingly. _You can't fix everything, love, although I know you want to try._

Bella suppresses her flinch at the realization that she hadn't been nearly as subtle with her concerns over the future of Volturi rule as she'd thought. She doesn't sense anything negative from Edward, though, just a curiosity toward her reasoning. And so it isn't difficult to show him memories she'd pulled from Aro's mind - the outline for a new world order that took all of human potential into consideration.

 _Aro's vision for world peace isn't a bad one_ , she asserts gently.

 _No, it's not,_ Edward agrees. He curls his arm tighter around her back, pulling her more firmly against the side of his torso until her thigh bumps over his knee, bent just enough that most of her is pressed against most of him. Intimate, but not necessarily sexual.

 _He can't do it by himself, though, and it's clear that my Uncles aren't going to be helpful. Their ways are outdated._

 _And your motivations are noble,_ Edward concedes. _But is it truly a good idea?_

She sighs. _We can live in secrecy for only so long, considering the rapid expansion of technology and the billions of humans that outnumber vampires…Don't you get tired of the dark? I don't want eternity hiding from the sun. With revelation will come equality and peace. I believe that._

I believe in you, he thinks as he presses a sweet kiss to the crown of her head. His hand plays over her fingers, lingering over a particular one for long enough that his mind unwittingly flashes with an image of a particular ring - and then Edward steels himself. _I adore you, Bella…_

 _Wait!_ She thinks, sitting up in one fluid movement to brace herself over his chest, her eyes wide as she stares down at him. His heavy brow knits together and she knows that he is trying to stave off the hurt that radiates from her apparent rejection. Bella shakes her head, pushing bronze hair away from his face with a lighthearted smile. _Save it_ , she tells him. _Don't taint your proposal with this uncertainty hanging over our heads. I want to remember the way you ask without it being marred by all this stress._

Edward's hand skims up her arm to curve around the base of her skull, dragging her into an impassioned kiss even as he thinks, _I can't wait to marry you…but I can wait to propose._

 _I can't wait to say yes._

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

June 19th.

Even before her eyes have opened to fully greet the morning sun beyond the clouds, she knows that the day will be an important one - monumental, even, in her life journey. The kind of day that people look back on with a sense of wonderment and the ability to definitively say, " _That right there - that's the day that made me who I am_."

A parenthetical feeling follows her throughout the motions of her morning ablutions. Comb the hair into a twist to keep the length from being used against her; dress in clothes that fit tight to the skin so her momentum won't be compromised; sturdy shoes; clean teeth. It's June 19th, an important day.

And the feeling continues, like a slow build of inertia that is just _waiting_ for impact. She greets her guards and her family and the new people she might call friends, drinks her coffee-and-blood, kisses her mate - and still, it is June 19th, an important day.

Bella runs with the rest of the vampires to the baseball clearing, taking the long route at the last minute so that she enters from a strategic angle, leaving Felix and Dimitri and Edward to find the clearing by themselves as she nicks her thumb on the prick of her distended fang over and over - a pattern of _cut, drip, heal_ as she makes an irresistible bread crumb to her eventual location. She is still sucking the residual blood from her thumb when she ambles at human speed into the clearing, catching everyone in their places exactly as they are meant to be. She cannot see the wolves and the witch-twins are equally as hidden. Before she can take more than two steps into the clearing to find her own place next to Edward and near to Jasper, Felix has already fallen in line behind her.

It is June 19th and everyone is uncommonly solemn, playing at skirmishes to make it look like they are indeed training - just as the enemy has been led to believe by Irina. They purposely have their backs turned to the east so as to "be surprised" and Bella is closest to the center, all of it predetermined, none of it by accident. Several times, her eyes stray to Alice only to receive a shake of the head. Not yet. The day is important, but it hasn't started yet - not really.

This time, though, the waiting game is not a long one and soon enough, there is the rustle of leaves beneath two dozen feet far off in the forest. Bella shivers with awareness when the footfalls stop, slowly turning on her heel to see her self-declared enemy.

Victoria has the gaunt, broken-strings bearing of a vampire with a lost mate, all untamed firebrand curls, dirty skin, and black eyes set into a glaring snarl as she digs her toenails into the damp earth beneath her feet, roving and growling and prowling at Bella and the allies. By all appearances, Victoria could care less about the seething, hungry newborn army behind her, but that appears to be par for the course, as the newborns - with the exception of one college-aged male - don't appear to care about their would-be sire, either. Instead, the scarred, now-familiar face of Maria is the one that cows the newborns into submission as she stands with power despite her small stature with her hand held high, as if waiting to give a signal.

At the sight of Maria, Jasper growls from Bella's side, a frothing sort of hatred and resentment that billows from his pores and is not tamed by Alice's brief touch to his shoulder. In response to the outpour of Jasper's empathic ability, the allies shift and stifle growls of their own - with the exception of Bella, who is too busy centering herself, toying with her shield to stretch like rubber from away from her even as she tangles her hand with Edward's. She taps into his telepathy and reaching mentally for both Laurent and Irina, who are both standing protectively in front of a tiny teenager with chin-length black hair.

 _Dive left_ , she tells them - right before all hell breaks loose.

Everything happens very quickly. As per the plan, from the trees Alec releases his ability on the unsuspecting arm of newborns, focusing on the newly-bitten with unlimited strength with as much precision as possible. It is immediately evident when it happens, as terrified, rage-fueled screaming rips into the air; several of the newborns begin to thrash in panic, taking each other out. Maria, Victoria, and the one blond male notice and slip away, stepping further into the field - and then the college-aged male vampire is down, writing under Jane's power.

The Quileute wolves - Sam, Jared, and Paul - charge out of the forest, snarling as they each lunge onto the nearest newborn. And then Jasper races forward, thus inciting the signal for the rest of the allies to crowd the overwhelmed newborn army. Bella remains focused on her shield, holding it in place over select vampires even as they rip limbs from torsos, which is certainly more challenging than she had assumed, even with all of her practice. Her nose begins to bleed by the time she notices that the newborn army has been cut down by half in the space of three minutes.

A shriek echoes through the clearing as Jasper tears Maria's head from her body, his back guarded by Alice and Peter-

Victoria laughs manically and darts into the trees -

"No!" Bella shouts and that is when she stops _really_ thinking. She drops her shield and races after Victoria with Edward at her side, hands still clasped together. That is the only reason she registers that her diversion from the plan hadn't landed any of the allies in hot water; as soon as he realized that Bella had dropped her shield, Alec had immediately stopped his ability and he and Jane waded directly into the fray while Dimitri and Felix took Bella's cover, keeping any newborns from following her and Edward.

She has never run so fast in her new life as she did just then - she is certain that more branches bow under the force of she and Edward's speed than ever before as they follow Victoria. It's a challenge, because something about Victoria's gift for evasion makes Edward's telepathy faulty. That is, until Bella snarls with exertion and _forces_ her mind into Victoria's through Edward's range, unheeding of the fresh rivet of blood that drips from her nose and down her chin in response and studiously ignoring the flare of pain from her mate's mind as he grits his teeth against what is a gross intrusion of his ability. She's already forgiven for it the second she does it, though. It's more important that Victoria not be allowed to escape -

They bypass Leah Clearwater at the treaty line. They don't even slow to offer an explanation. It wasn't necessary. Leah would have followed Victoria herself, but only she and Mele were protecting the people of La Push and it wasn't clear if _that red-haired bloodsucker_ was the only _leech_ to come through - and then Bella and Edward appeared right on Victoria's tail and it ceased to matter.

Victoria flies over First Beach, carried by some instinct that allows her to remain unseen by any curious humans - and thankfully they are all very, very fast to the human eye, just in case any Quileutes decided to defy the edict to stay indoors. The tall cliffs that divide Second Beach are climbed with alacrity and then quite suddenly, Victoria has nowhere to go. She skids to a stop at the end of the tallest cliff, bare feet kicking stones down, down, down into the roiling ocean below.

Bella releases Edward's hands as they separate, one at each of Victoria's angles of escape. Victoria's black eyes, shadowed by heavy rings of purple and below a maniacal, rabid grin, roll between them at dizzying speed.

"Victoria," Edward says carefully -

"You killed him! You killed James! Jamie, Jamie, my James!" she screams as she stabs her finger at him.

"And you killed a lot of innocent people," Bella responds flatly.

"Innocent?" Victoria echoes. "No, no, no, not innocent - they're going to help me get my James back! _They agreed_! You killed him and _I'm going to kill you! She promised_!"

"I hate to break it to you, but Maria is dead and so are all your little helpers," Edward says.

"You're next," Bella quickly adds, advancing on Victoria with measured steps, her hands held out as Edward mirrors her pace by pace. "All it takes is a touch."

It's a challenge - and a forewarning that Victoria honestly doesn't deserve for all the untold damage she has caused, for all the lives she has ruined.

Victoria rears back, a jerk of her head and a tilt of her eyes as she flicks her eyes backward to the ocean below. And Bella knows exactly what Victoria is planning to do before she even reaches the decision herself - which is why when Victoria flings herself off the cliff, Bella is only a second behind, followed by Edward's roaring protest.

It's June 19th and Victoria can't be allowed to get away.

The ocean current is strong. If she'd still been human, Bella would have been taken by the undertow or even the admittedly frigid temperature. As it is, she's always been a strong swimmer and no matter how dark and excessively deep the water is, Victoria's fiery hair is a beacon that cannot be hidden by its salty depths.

Bella's hands close - hard, unforgiving claws - onto Victoria and she doesn't hesitate -

She lets that shadowy, hungry, insidious _thing_ in her mind out of its cage, mouth full of ocean as her eyes roll back in her head - an undeniable sensation of pleasure, of satiation as she unleashes the beast of her nature of Victoria's unsuspecting mind. Drinking in all that energy, all that agony. Relishing in it. Shuddering as she floats to the surface with her fingers sunk deep into ashen, immobile flesh - full for the first time in her life, it seems.

Nothing can beat that sensation, that level of fulfillment she has just obtained by draining the life from Victoria's body - absorbing everything that Victoria was or would ever be. Not blood, not food, not water. Not even sex, she's betting.

Bella's head surfaces, followed by the loll of Victoria's lifeless body still in her grasp. She kicks her legs to keep herself afloat, trying to gauge how far from shore she is - and then Edward's water-logged hair pops up beside her, his eyes wide as he assesses the situation. He nods to himself. "We have to burn her," he says, helping Bella tow Victoria's body to shore, where he sees to the dismemberment as Bella gathers logs for a fire.

Victoria's head goes in the flames first. Bella thinks that Edward might enjoy the sight just a bit too much, but she doesn't say anything. How can she when it's so clear that _she_ is the real monster in this situation? She thinks that the heinous thing she has just done - for the right reasons - might haunt her for the rest of her life. And even now while Victoria's body burns, she wonders if she hadn't just unleashed the beast in her mind for good because it feels too _easy_ that it had went back into its cage so easily.

 _Not important at the moment_.

It is June 19th and it is an important day. It is the day that Bella committed murder, a crime she would never be tried for and an act that took her one step further away from the humanity she'd been losing since she hit puberty, since James bit her, since she was born - part of her humanity that she will never get back.

Bella hunches in on herself, arms wrapped tightly around her torso as if to contain the thrumming vitality that has just bloomed in her. Soaking wet as she may be, she's almost certain that the influx of Victoria's energy has flushed her skin to an even more human appearance. Edward, done with his task, comes up behind her, pulling her firmly against his chest with his chin over the top of her head. They watch the driftwood flames, dancing blue and green, lift into a plume of sweet smelling deep purple smoke and they wait until the embers burn themselves out.

Bella exhales. "Is it over?"

Instead of answering, Edward's head turns to greet the figure of Leah Clearwater as she jogs up the beach to their location dressed in a checkered sundress that contrasts sharply with her russet complexion and short-cropped hair.

"Think I can answer that for you," she says by way of greeting, nodding at them grimly before launching into a full run-down of the battle as told from the pack-mind perspective of the wolves, scowling any time she is forced to mention Sam's victories. All newborns, except for the one called _Bree_ that Laurent had sired as a means of mercy, are dead and accounted for. Then Leah adds, "That glary little blonde leech is scary as fuck - took down two that were edging on some emo-looking bloodsucker just like _that_."

Despite herself, Bella smiles at the mental image. "Yeah," she agrees fondly. "That's probably why she's my grandfather's favorite."

"Maybe not anymore," Edward observes wryly and Bella is forced to agree with him. Aro didn't have a single guard in his collection that could kill as efficiently as she could - and that made her more valuable than she cares to admit.

Bella closes her eyes.

It's June 19th and she will never be quite the same again.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Dear Grandfather,_

 _Although I have already called to inform you of our sound victory, I feel it prudent to include the exact details of the battle so that it may be recorded and incorporated into the Volturi records - you will find the attached debrief on the next page._

 _I should like to inform you that I am also attaching the itinerary for my planned trip to Italy next month so that you will know when to expect me. We have a lot of things to discuss - about me and about the future. Nothing to worry about, I don't think. But I'm sure you will have a different opinion in light of what I have to say. It is possible that I will be pushing my luck as your blood, but that is left to be determined for another time._

 _Please know that the danger has passed - and I am returning your guards to you in one piece. Thank you for the loan of their expertise, but Grandfather, you'll find that I am decidedly_ not _thankful for some particulars of their interference, when I have learned is your doing. We will also have words about that!_

 _All my love,_

 _Your Granddaughter Isabella_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The send-off of the guests is anti-climatic for the most part.

The Irish coven is the first to depart, quickly followed by most of the nomads - except for Alistair, who has concluded that he is not willing to leave Jane now that he had realized the draw they felt toward each other was not, in fact, some kind of interference from one of the gifted vampires. Bella later learns that Alistair had primarily suspected Siobhan of willing a mating bond into place, apparently something that a paranoid mind would believe.

The Denalis are the last to leave and they wander off with an addition to their coven. Young Bree Tanner, the progeny of Laurent, and now an adopted daughter to the coven, has turned out to be gifted with a sense of evasion, as well; though apparently, she can also detect safety and has rightly identified the Denali coven of being her safe harbor as she is ushered into this new life.

Surprisingly, it is somewhat difficult to see off the Volturi guard who have been at Bella's beck and call for nearly three weeks. Bella passes Jane the letter she has written for Aro, surprises Jane with a hug, and then wrings out a promise that Jane would show her around the sights in Volterra that girls their age would be interested in. Jane agrees in her stilted way, then drifts over to Alistair; Alec follows after dropping into a deep bow that makes Bella grit her teeth because she knows definitively that he only pays her such respects just to be _annoying._ Remarkably, Felix and Dimitri seem reluctant to part ways and they are only convinced to leave once Bella reiterates that she would be following them to Italy come July for a long-awaited visit.

But the hardest of all is Mele's decision to leave. "For the moment, _mtoto_ , you do not need me. But should you ever require me, I will feel your call," she says as she presses a firm kiss to the center of Bella's forehead.

It is probably a good thing that Edward is there to support Bella's emotional state once the Cullen house is empty of everyone except for the Cullens - because she struggles not to cry at the departure of people who have become very dear to her in so little time. For Bella, who had never been particularly close with _anyone_ , it is most alarming to be so bereft by such peaceable departures - but then, she had cried when Aro and Sulpicia returned to Italy, had she not?

Perhaps she has been underestimating her emotional capabilities for all this time.

And maybe for that reason, she doesn't need to worry about that shadow caged in her mind - not if she can feel this deeply for so many different people.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella takes stock of her body as she stands alone in her room for the first time that month, wiggling her fingers, stretching her limbs, tracking the thrum of vitality that swishes through her body with every heavy thud of her singular heartbeat.

She feels _good_. Too good.

She hadn't slept the night before - even though she was surely do for _some_ kind of rest by now, nearly a week after the battle. But there is no sense of fatigue, no exhaustion in the lag of her steps or the blink of her eyes. She's still pumped full of energy - and she knows why. The force that is keeping Bella going right now isn't blood or food or sleep.

It's the trace of Victoria's energy that is sustaining her now.

Bella feels sick and vertigo strikes her hard enough that she slumps down onto her bed, wrapping her arms tightly around her body - something she'd been doing more and more as the unnatural energy still shook with vibrancy in her cells.

 _I'm a monster_ , she reflects numbly.

Emmett had been right - Bella was essentially a psychic vampire, too.

 _Oh, God_.

How does she _deal_ with that? And how long was this energy going to last until she needed another fix - _would_ she need another fix? Six days going strong and before that there had been an inkling, an itch in her mind as that insidious shadow moved and salivated - but it had been manageable. Hadn't it? It acted only in defense, right?

More importantly, though, was the question that was philosophical in nature - was Bella the monster or was she the host of the monster?

No clear, immediate answers come to mind. What to do, then? Science would say observe; fiction would indicate the same. Self-observation it was, then.

She stands and rifles through her desk in search of a blank notebook, which she locates easily enough along with a pen. And then she starts writing - beginning at the very start of last August, she jots down everything pertinent to the evolution that is her existence, keeping to the exacting facts so that she can understand the progression. She leaves nothing out.

And that is how Bella Swan begins a somewhat neurotic habit of journaling every night at exactly nine.

In retrospect, journaling is the reason that she reaches any kind of healthy closure after such a series of traumatic events.

Of course, as with most things in her life, that's just a theory.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"That boy is going to propose," Charlie says conversationally one afternoon toward the end of June. He's been following Bella around for fifteen minutes as she matriculated around the house as she finished readying herself for a date with Edward. Her father has a misty glittering to his eye as he watches her pin her hair away from her face with a mother-of-pearl pin that Sulpicia had sent her last year.

"Yes, I know," she mumbles around a matching pin that she has bitten between her teeth as she fusses clumsily with her hair. She's not very good at styling her tresses in anything that didn't involve a hairband; bobby pins, even fancy ones from her grandmother, were just beyond her scope. She huffs and pulls the first one out of her hair, starting all over again.

Charlie shifts against the bathroom doorway. "And you're going to say yes."

"I am," she agrees, successfully placing one of the pins and then the other, effectively sweeping one side of her hair away from her neck to better show off the Peter-pan collar of the mulberry floral dress she has selected for the occasion. She's just as observant as Charlie, and after all, Edward really couldn't hide much from her without putting a lot of effort into it - she's known what this night would entail for the better part of a week and has talked herself off the ledge of nervousness twice already. Which is probably why her mate hadn't bothered to hide his plans, now that she's thinking about it.

 _Clever, thoughtful boy_.

"You're all grown up, Bells."

She turns at the wobble in Charlie's tone, taking in the vast expression of emotion on his face - and does not hesitate to fold herself into her father's embrace. As hard as this year has been for _her_ , it's been just as hard for Charlie, maybe even more difficult considering the fact that finding her place in the world effectively removes her from his. She's immortal, graduated, and now she's about to be engaged. It's a lot to handle for anyone. For a father, it must be something like the seventh circle of hell - but he's being a good sport about it all, content to let her make her own choices and walk her own path.

"Daddy, I want you to know that I really did try to grow up slow," she utters into his shoulder.

He squeezes her just that bit tighter. "I know, kid. I know."

The thing was that Bella had already grown up before any of this happened - she was ready with fate beckoned her with an idle hand. She hoped that fact made this easier for Charlie in the long run.

He releases her with a gruff clearing of his throat, eyes darting down to her feet, his mustache pulling into an amused twitching smile. "You really going to wear those shoes on a day like this?"

Bella blinks down at her wheat-brown hiking boots and port-wine socks and then up at her father with her eyes widened in incredulity. "Dad, are you giving me _fashion advice_?"

He badly muffles his chortles, too entertained by half. "Maybe you should have Rosalie or Alice pick out the wedding dress, kid."

" _Unbelievable!_ " she calls at his quickly-retreating back, fighting the urge to stomp her foot childishly. "Just for that, I'm making you dance _twice!_ "

"The horror!" Charlie guffaws from downstairs.

Bella laughs until her stomach aches and mirthful tears gather in her eyes.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The onset of summer weather, while still moderately cloudy and certainly cooler than a June in Arizona, has ripened the blooms of the meadow in a full spectrum of richly hued and magnificently fragrant wildflowers. They have run hand-in-hand to this place that signifies the beginning of their relationship, relaxed and at peace with the world beneath the sunset seeping through wispy clouds on the horizon. The sun that does peek through is a stunning cardinal red, the clouds dyed in shades ranging from canary to violet to tangerine.

She has always loved him best in the sun. The sight of Edward shimmering in the setting sunlight is nothing short of breathtaking, the light refracting against the vivid verdant of the surrounding meadow just right that - for a moment - his eyes appear bright apple green rather than the honeyed sunglow that betrays his immortality and it is almost as if he is human. Just for a second. Just long enough for Bella to remember how painfully beautiful he sometimes is. Funny how a trick of the light can manage a feat so extraordinary.

"You seem nervous," she observes with a delighted smile after they have watched the entirety of the sunset. Bella is snugly secure with her back against his chest as he sits in the direct center of the meadow, legs splayed on either side of her hips, his hands tapping an unnamed melody against her cardigan-covered wrists.

Edward pauses, shifting minutely beneath her weight. "Well, I am about to put my ego at risk."

Bella cranes her neck as she twists around to better view his face, the unsettled clenching and unclenching of his jaw as he visibly gathers himself. It's positively _adorable_. Her most feminine inclination is to thrill at his obvious nerves, even as they both know the purpose for this moment and how significant it is. She will always marvel and be humbled by how thorough his regard for her is, how she can make him feel just as overwrought as he makes her feel.

"Is that supposed to be a joke? I must be missing the punchline - or for a vampire, you have a remarkably poor memory," she razzes fondly, reaching up to trace the jittering shape of his lush lips with the barest touch of her fingers before smoothing her palm in an upward caress from chin to temple, ending with her hand carding gently through his tousled hair.

Her touch seems to have performed some magic, taming the edginess from his demeanor. Edward leans into her hand, smiling with a boyish charm and a twinkle to his eye. "Now you really are wounding my ego."

"Imagine all the pain you could avoid if you would just ask the question," is her mellow response.

"Isabella Swan, I promise to love you every moment, forever," he murmurs, looking at her from beneath his lashes, gaze soft. Edward takes her left hand tenderly with his own, carefully straightening each of her fingers before reverently sliding a platinum ring onto her finger. His mother's ring fits as perfectly as kismet with a long, oval face and a cluster of slanted diamonds that is timeless and demure. Even as she studies the ring, heart throbbing with painful clarity, she registers the way Edward's mind wonders over the way it looks on her hand - her lips twitch at the proprietary edge to his thoughts that mingle so sweetly with his adoration. "Would you do me the extraordinary honor of marrying me?"

Her answer is a soul-searing kiss and a resounding, fiercely joyful _yes_.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is June

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, the proposal is both a reference to that one part of New Moon (book) and the actual proposal from Eclipse (movie, but since I haven't and won't watch it, I had to go hunt it down on the Google). As the proposal is pretty important, I didn't want to screw it up by even attempting to write it myself so there it is. I borrowed. Shameful, isn't it? (And only now have I realized that I didn't post a disclaimer anywhere on this damn story. Shoot. Don't sue me!)**

 **A big thank you to a certain someone for giving me advice about particular characters in this chapter - you know who you are, dollface. And to another certain someones for keeping me going online - darlings, you have my undying gratitude, for I'm certain I would have rushed important scenes and skipped out on details in my haste to write this more quickly.**

 **To get a jump on the question of "Why did you include Maria?" - to be perfectly honest, you guys, it never made sense to me that** _ **Victoria**_ **would be able to create a freakin' newborn army all by herself. I mean, not that we know much about her character in the first place, she always struck me as sort of craven** _ **and**_ **crazy so it didn't seem realistic that she would have sired twenty vampires all by herself. Even Maria had partners at first. Also, I just don't freaking like Maria and it did seem plausible that she'd be looking to troll the world with another series of wars, this time in the North rather than the South; also, how rude was it of SM to not give Jasper that closure of killing Maria in the first place? I mean, come on, she kind of dicked Carlisle out of retribution too, now that I think of it…**

 **For anyone who cares, I am very much aware that I've been spelling Dimitri's name different from canon; let me assure you that is completely intentional, mostly because I wanted him to be Romanian because** _ **why the hell not**_ **? Plus, I just like the spelling better. Although, if anyone is interested, based on the etymology of** _ **Demitri**_ **in the canon-spelling, it's pretty likely that SM might have meant for him to be Greek, as that is the earliest form of the name. Also, apparently he was sired by Amun? The more you know!**

 **Also, I'm kind of really super disgusting with peanut better - if you can conceivably dip it, I've dunked it into my personal jar (labeled with chicken-scratch Sharpie) at least once. And let me tell you, my jar of natural crunchy has been traumatized by the writing of this chapter.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	14. thirteen: july

**thirteen**

 **july**

* * *

 **"The Summer looks out from her brazen tower,**

 **Through the flashing bars of July."**

 **\- Francis Thompson, A Corymbus for Autumn**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

June brings with it a humidity the seeps into every space it can manage and to Forks, where the greenhouse effect is year round, that type of sweltering, festering summer heat is enough to send Bella into a tailspin of lazy days and even lazier nights. She languishes in the arms of her mate, turning page after page as he scratches a pen over composition paper, each of them basking in this new sense of security.

The sun slants through the wall of tall windows in Edward's bedroom, bathing half the room in faint sunglow that ends just shy of the foot of the wrought iron bed. Another day, another sunset. Bella sighs contentedly, sinking into a haze of concentration as she follows the journey of Bilbo Baggins as he crosses Middle Earth in the company of boisterous dwarves -

Edward shifts her hair over to one shoulder, his cool breath ghosting over her skin as he lowers his head, mouth working with silken tenderness against the line of her neck. The Hobbit falls shut, a low thwap as pages press firmly together. She tilts her head, giving him more room to continue his slow, deliberate seduction.

He doesn't bother to mask the smug elation that suffuses him the moment a breathy moan is stolen from her throat.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

As if the elimination of the threat hanging over their heads has given them permission, Edward and Bella have fallen into the passionate comfort trap of their shared desire - at least to a certain extent. There is a tacit agreement that their wedding night, whenever that may be, will see to the dismantling of the final barrier of their physical relationship. Bella could care less when they had sex so long as nobody outside of their relationship was interfering; however, Edward cares quite a bit, although he's a bit reluctant to admit it, some part of him worried that she will grow frustrated with the pace of their exploration. But he can't hide from her and she finds his reasoning to remain virginal to be endearing.

He doesn't want to dishonor the memory of his human parents or the Irish Catholic upbringing they gave him. Vampires were static creatures, after all, and not so prone to change that it was easy for him to wrap his head around performing premarital acts - even with his mate. Bella had point-blank told him that they would be shelving penetrative sex until her last name matched his and then proceeded to point out that there were many, many different ways to explore their sexuality, which of course he knew after seventy years reading the minds of sexually-charged teenagers.

Trust Edward to have completely overlooked the obvious in his quest to brood over a conflict that hadn't even happened. She'd thoroughly distracted him - to illustrate her point - and after that and to say her mate was interested would be an understatement.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Edward…" she breathes, arching into his hands as they skim down the front of her body, lingering over her breasts, then her hips, and finally the upper area of her thighs that are exposed by the loose hem of her mint sundress. There his thumbs work in soft, wide circles as they grow ever-closer to the junction of her legs until - finally, after he has prolonged the inevitable and sucked kisses into the flesh behind her ear - his thumbs press into the tender inside of her thighs.

Her breath catches as he applies the barest amount of pressure, coaxing her knees apart as he carefully hooks his bare feet around her ankles - manipulating her body to his pleasure, filling them both with heady lust as she remains pliant to his whims. Edward's chest rumbles at the sight of her simple cotton panties, the low bikini style and white color sensational enough - for him - to positively spin his lust into overdrive. One of his hands sweeps upward, over her quivering stomach beneath her dress to meet the petty resistance of her bra, which snaps beneath the pressure of his strength, releasing her nipples to his lazy perusal. His other hand remains low, fingers edging beneath flimsy elastic with unhurried ease as her heart slams against her rib cage, a flush rising on her skin - from her cheeks all the way down to the tops of her breasts.

Sex flush, her mind supplies helpfully and she feels Edward smirk into the crook of her neck, even as his palm presses down on her pubic bone, long fingers fluttering over her quim, stroking so lightly over the damp evidence of her arousal. Her hips roll upward - and he shifts, spreading her legs further apart to render her immobile as her upper body is caught in the strength of his arm as he circles, rubs, pinches -

Edward slides two fingers inside - and they both make excited sounds, hers a gasping keen, his a triumphant snarl at finding her _wet_ and _tight_ and _perfect_ and _hishishis_.

"God, but you're magnificent like this," he growls into her ear, pumping his fingers with steadily growing intensity. His teeth scrape against the hollow behind her ear and she twitches, arcing against him to the best of her ability as lust grabs her without reservation.

 _Please_. She wants more - wants his mouth on hers, wants his fingers faster, wants attention to her aching clitoris, wants to touch him - but she's helpless to anything except for drunken sensation as his fingers curl and twist inside her body, deeper than she thought possible. She should be embarrassed by how wet she is, how she has come to the edge so quickly under his attentions, but she can do little else but mewl with an open mouth, stretching herself to give him more room, hips wide with splayed legs, neck tilted to present her eager flesh to his lips, his tongue, his teeth -

Edward responds to her thoughts, tuned directly into exactly what she needs - so she knows that the way he ignores her swollen clit is on purpose. He's hard against the small of her back, wrapped up in her entirely. The scent of her fills the room as his teeth again scrape against her skin, harder this time, more focused on the heat hiding in the veins of her neck. He finds a spot he likes, lush lips open wide to lave the salt from her skin -

And then - in a move that must have been planned for maximum impact - his razor-sharp teeth sink deeply into her neck at the exact moment that he presses the heel of his palm against her clitoris, fingers curling against spongy tissue -

Bella comes - hard - shuddering against him as he pulls a second smaller climax from her body even as he drinks her blood, direct from the source with the mild tingling of his venom mingling equally with pleasure, and he comes too, groaning and panting into her overheated skin -

 _Mine_.

She doesn't know which of them think it - but it is true either way.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

It was becoming increasingly apparent that Alice had never learned to appreciate the art of subtly at any point in her long, long life. She outright asks Bella about wedding plans once she spots the engagement ring, her trilling squeal forever embedded in Bella's memory right next to Alice's exaggerated moue of disappointment once she learns that Bella didn't have any plans, not even ideas from when she was a little girl. And while Bella is sure that Alice thinks the scores of wedding magazines appearing in Charlie's house is a subtle method of scooting the wedding arrangements into an actual planning stage, she is less than impressed to find Brides perched on top of the coffee canister.

Especially because that makes the grand total of back-issued and current magazines reach a whopping count of seventeen. Which is absurd. She has no idea when or how Alice is managing to magic these thick, glossy magazines into the Swan household, but she's just about had enough.

Bella huffs and, ignoring Charlie's bemused laughter, she speeds around the house, collecting the magazines into one large stack and then high-tailing it to the Cullen house, where she unceremoniously dumps the magazines on the dinning room table - right in front of Alice, who is waiting for her with an expression that borders on apologetic.

Mostly, though, Alice is unapologetic - too excited by Bella's response to her ungentle prodding, rightly guessing that Bella is prepared to just sit down and hash all the wedding nonsense out.

"This doesn't mean you win," Bella tells her baldly. "You switched Candide for one of these things and I'm not completely sure that can be forgiven. It's a classic, Alice. It's _Voltaire_."

"So is that issue," she retorts brightly. "It's _Martha_."

"Martha Stewart hardly constitutes a classic anything."

"Says you," Alice responds primly, already flipping through the magazines at vampire-speed to pages that appear to be her favorites.

Bella glances at the pages - but she quickly finds out that there really isn't any way to cherry-pick wedding planning. Even with the stipulation that she wants the ceremony and reception to be simple, the planning quickly evolves into a complex weave of decisions because, as Alice rightly points out, Bella and Edward really can't just have a small gathering of family to bear witness to their matrimonial vows. Not with as many vampires as Edward - and the Cullens - knew collectively, or with Bella's new political connections that demanded she be diplomatic in at least the invites. The relatively small guest list of fifteen swells to seventy-five in the space of a minute, quickly becoming too overwhelming to Bella, who hasn't ever had an interest in any of this stuff and didn't like the feeling of ignorance that washes over her each time Alice brings up yet another decision that the bride-to-be will need to make.

And that is when Bella calls in reinforcements. Not only to herd Alice in the direction of as simple as possible, but to help Bella make decisions - and there are so many, with flowers, linens, music, location, dates, time, and a small cake that she, Charlie, and the Quileute wolves would be able to eat. And that's just the beginning, the tip of the iceberg.

Esme and Rosalie take her considerations to heart with a certain air of wistfulness, joining forces with a laptop and smartphone to hunt down photographers and bakeries. Wedding planning - as one might imagine - is bittersweet for Rosalie, but she doesn't allow the bad memories she associates with planning her human wedding detract from the insightful advice she gives. And Esme's tasteful contributions are a buoy to Alice's whimsical inclinations, finding compromises where Bella had been unable to see any, such as the use of an archway rather than a gazebo.

"You've really never even fantasized about your wedding, dear?" Esme asks during a lull while Alice has disappeared to God knew where, jotting out the door like her tiny ass was on fire.

Bella leans into Esme's comforting, nurturing touch to the top of her shoulder, shaking her head. "I'd never even dared to hope that I could fall in love until Edward."

"That's so sweet." Rosalie smiles with open delight. "Are you sure you two shouldn't write your own vows?"

"No," Bella sighs. "While Edward is poetic enough to get away with it, I'm afraid I would just bumble it all up. Besides, I think he would like traditional vows…"

"I would," comes Edward's velvety voice from the entryway. He grins boyishly, leaning against the doorjamb as Alice darts past him. So that's where she'd gone - getting the boys early from their hunt.

"You didn't have to come back so soon," she says, although she is immensely relieved by his return. Maybe he can ward Alice off - or better yet, suggest eloping.

Edward shrugs, sauntering over to plant a searing kiss on her lips. I missed you. Then he pulls away, brushing their lips together once before he sits down in the chair next to her, elbow on the table. "Emmett found two grizzlies and Jasper was being unbearable about it, so the day was shot anyway," he mutters.

"I hate to make you pout, Eddie-boy," Emmett shouts from somewhere in the house.

Edward glares at the ceiling, but doesn't dignify a response. Instead, he says, "Tell me what I can help with, love."

And so Bella shoves the pile of undecided ideas at him, gleefully watching as his eyes widen incredulously - though he plays along gamely, placing the deciding vote for linens and the style of invites and the type of archway that Esme plans to commission for the occasion. Without prompting or teeth pulling, Edward volunteers to handle the music for both the ceremony and the reception.

Bella stands from the table, stretching until her back pops, but Alice stops her before she can get very far. "Wait, wait! What about the officiate? The wedding party? The dress?"

Bella balks. "I don't know Alice, you're the psychic. Why don't you tell me?"

"That's not how it works!" Alice exclaims.

Worth a shot. Bella sighs, frowning thoughtfully. "Alright…I do have someone in mind for the officiate, but I want to ask in person, so shelf that for now. As to the wedding party, I would appreciate you three would be my bridesmaids."

"Oh, Bella, I would be honored," Esme gushes, pulling Bella into a familiar embrace. If vampires could cry, Esme would certainly be bawling from joy at the moment. Alice agrees quickly, positively elated, and Rosalie is unable to hide the plain shock on her face, though she can't imagine why. But Bella wouldn't have it any other way; each of the female Cullens held a special place in her heart and she couldn't imagine excluding any of them from participating in her wedding day. If she thought Mele or Jane would even consider it, she would extend the same offer.

Bella casts a significant look to Edward. "I think we'll have to put a pin in discussing the dress, too."

Rosalie wrinkles her nose, hastily hiding her emotions beneath a chilly mask. "There goes that tradition."

Bella's brows arch. "Oh, I think I can keep it a surprise. I've been meaning to try something, anyway."

Alice's eyes glaze over for a second, and then she smiles wickedly, shooting Edward a superior look. "Finally, a way to hide something from the all-knowing telepath!"

Bella takes that as confirmation for her idea of selectively absorbing memories being possible and successful. Excellent. She files that away in her mind, idly contemplating when she could possibly talk Leah Clearwater into allowing a removal of Sam Uley's betrayal from her mind -

 _Save it for another day,_ she thinks to herself and tunes back into the lively scene her family presents.

"Ironic coming from you, Mary Alice," Edward is saying dryly.

"I would think not, Edward Anthony! I'll have you know that I can at least try not to see the future-"

"No kidding," Rosalie interjects. "At least Alice has the decency to look the other way-"

"It's not like I can help it!"

"So you've been saying for the last seventy years -"

"Maybe if your thoughts weren't so priggishly loud-"

Bella just about collapses on the floor in a fit of laughter.

This could be what her eternity looks like - it isn't a bad picture.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

They have to talk about it some point - this guilt she is carrying around like a second skin, this parasitic thing that had attached itself to her the moment she realized the gravity of her actions on that wretched day. June 19th haunts her. It says so in her journal. Of course, she didn't think that they would be talking about it on the night they are packing for their trip overseas, but trust in Edward to pick the most dramatic time to discuss anything of import.

He has such a flair for drama, she will reflect fondly - later, once she has settled on the plane with his hand encased firmly in her own.

But that isn't now. Now is just moments after she has tucked her journal into her carry-on, moving to lounge on his massive bed as he zips around the room packing his own suitcase, alternating between muttering at Alice to stay out of my closet and plucking record or CD off his shelf to add to the ever-growing tower of music that he is considering for the wedding. If she's being honest, he might be a bit obsessive about picking the songs, but she's content to let him work through whatever system he has devised in his head. He's a musician and she has discovered that they are a bit odd - eccentric and mercurial, but that might also just be Edward.

In any case, she has no intentions of getting anywhere near his complex stereo system, as the thing is absurdly intimidating for what is essentially a giant speaker.

She tracks his progression through his bedroom with limpid eyes, chin balanced on her hand as he zips his suitcase and sets it next to hers. Bella already knows that he's going to be excessively gentlemanly in the morning and insist on carrying her bags for her and she is contemplating whether she should let him or not - when Edward shuffles through the vinyl records on his shelf, placing the large black disc onto the record-player. His lips turn up when Elivis begins crooning the opening verse of Love Me Tender.

"I like this song," she whispers, hushed so as to not disrupt the music.

Edward approaches her with a beguiling grin, ducking his head as he holds his hands out to assist her off the bed, pulling her against his chest. "Do you? Would you care to dance then, love?"

She nods, pressing her forehead against his collarbone as he makes the appropriate adjustments in their posture and arrangement, holding her with one arm around her waist and her other hand held aloft in his own. His mind is buzzing with a low-key pleasure, a certain threat of contentedness as he begins to spin them in slow steps around the room, humming along with the tune with his lips brushing over the shell of her ear.

He still holds her close when the music ends, twisting his wrist to play with her fingers, bringing her hand to rest over his heart. And aware as he is of the other ears in the house, his thoughts are remarkably quiet as he broaches the topic she has been struggling with for nearly two weeks. Somberly he asks, _Are you ready to talk about it?_

It takes some effort to thwart the urge to emphatically deny that she has anything to talk about in the first place - Bella turns her head to stare down at their feet, delaying the inevitable by studying the way cotton clings to the shape of her toes. She's been moping long enough. She knows this, just as surely as she knows her mate has watched her glumness with a doleful, erstwhile need to fix it for her. And Edward is the only one she can trust with this, just as it should be. When she gave him her heart, she also entrusted him with the responsibility of caring for her when she cannot or will not care for herself - it was a sacred duty that she performed for him, as well. Her emotional and mental health was decidedly more obdurate than her physical well-being, but Edward viewed them all as equally important. He'd been giving her time to reflect, to try and find peace, and now it was his turn.

And so she says, _Yes_ and launches into an unrestrained tirade to express her monumentally conflicted feelings about Victoria and her gift that felt like a curse - how she struggled with being tormented by the murder in self-defense at the same time that she is sharply glad that the threat to her life and her mate and her future has been removed. How sometimes her stomach turns when she still feels the echoes of Victoria's energy swimming through her body and how she isn't sure that it's not psychosomatic because after a full three weeks, Bella has returned to a state of existence that requires blood and sleep and food. How she has a millisecond of fear any time she touches someone, especially him, wondering if this time will unleash the darkness in her - if she would lose control unwittingly. How she is terrified that she is a monster.

Bella lays herself bare, open and vulnerable and as fragile as a newborn bird, brittle bones and quivering limbs and salty tears cascading down her cheeks - the kind of sobbing that is soul-deep and gut-wrenching.

And Edward - unfailingly, unflinchingly - catches her.

 _You are my comet in the dark moonless night_ , he thinks, his mind encasing her in a soothing balm of acceptance. He understands what she's feeling - he'd been afraid that he was a monster too, dead and soulless. But monsters are not capable of love. She had shown that to him, waking him from the sluggish monotony of his eternity - and he would show her the same light if only she would open her eyes.

Bella begins to mend.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Edward is her buffer in the airport, putting his body between her and everyone else. Though she might have control over her gifts, she still hadn't figured a way to completely block off the default tendency to absorb surface thoughts - even a brush of skin for a fraction of a second is enough to bombard her. She can't imagine what the dense crowd must be like for Edward, though he doesn't complain. She supposes he has had a hundred years to figure out a way to cope; Bella would have a hundred years to do the same, now.

Her new level of indestructibility does make it easier to sit in the airplane without fighting the urge to cower each time they encounter turbulence. Still, it is a hard habit to break and she catches Edward suppressing a grin at her expense more than once. She pinches him in retaliation.

Although the ultimate aim is to visit Italy on this trip, Bella had made it a point to stop off overnight to visit her mother for what might be the very last time - Renee might be Renee, but she would eventually notice that Bella stopped aging. Bella has already mourned this loss. The rest is just saying goodbye, though part of her does wonder if her very human mother had requested a cesarean birth, as if intuiting that a natural birth was simply not possible. There wasn't any way to ask. Bella locks the theory up in her mind, placed on hold to examine for another day.

Because their flight was so late in the night by the time it arrives to Jacksonville International Airport, Bella and Edward flag down a taxi instead of dragging her mother and step-father out of bed to wait at the gates. That doesn't stop Renee from awaiting their arrival, though, opening the front door to the little bungalow before Edward has even pulled their bags from the trunk.

"Baby!" Renee cries, throwing herself forward to shower Bella with kisses and unwittingly exposing Bella to the sheer jubilation rustling through her mother's sun-bright mind.

Bella's chest feels tight; she's missed her mother more than she realized. "Hey, Mom," she says, then nods to the familiarly kind face of her stepfather. "Phil."

"Bella," he greets with warmth. "Bella's boyfriend."

"Edward Cullen," says her mate, holding his hand out for a firm shake. "Pleasure to meet you."

Oh, goodness…Renee thinks once she catches sight of Edward in the light, blinking dazedly for a moment. She shakes her head slightly, leading them into the house, where the living room couch has already been pulled out into a bed and made up for the night. It's a bit of an eyesore, honestly. Renee has grasped the bright, eclectic style of bohemian design with both hands and it shows in the way she has stacked the house with color over print over more color. Even in low lighting, it's a bit much, but it's also totally Renee.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty?" Renee is asking before bulldozing over any response that might have come. "I wish you could stay longer, baby. What time did you say your flight was coming in? Seven? You'll have to leave so early. Are you sure you can't postpone for a few days? Italy will wait - it's not as if Julius is trying to tear down Rome, right?"

Bella smiles tightly, fighting off the fresh wave of sadness that threatens to dim her countenance. "Sorry, Mom, but we're booked for a tour that's really hard to get into. We'll come back soon, though, and stay longer."

She hates that she has to lie - but Renee can never know. By the time Bella fully instituted all of her plans, her mother would be long-gone and it would be easier for Renee if she could believe that Bella had died a happy, if not very abrupt, death. Selfishly, she knows it would be easier for her in the long-run, too. She can't imagine seeing Renee over and over again for as long as she could pass as looking this young, forcing herself to hold her tongue so as to not reveal her secret. Immortality has its perks; this is not one of them.

She and Edward don't sleep that night. He holds her while they listen to the two human heartbeats pumping away in the next room; for once, he isn't sure what to say to make this easier for her because he hadn't had to say any goodbyes to his human life. He hadn't been able to. But the truth is that there is no right way to handle this. And so, because she can't stand sitting still any longer, Bella rises an hour earlier than strictly necessary and putters around the kitchen, making a veritable feast of cinnamon-pecan French toast and rashers of bacon and fresh-cut fruit salad - all of Renee's favorites. By the time Renee and Phil wander into the kitchen, Bella has already made it look like she and Edward have already eaten, though in all honestly Bella had just scraped an orange smothered in syrup over two plates and stuck them unwashed into the sink.

"Hey, Mom. Can I talk to you for a second?" she says after Renee has finished eating.

Renee looks up, perhaps perceptive enough to know that this isn't a conversation that can be had around others. "Sure, baby. Come onto the patio with me and let me show you the cactus I smuggled from Arizona…" And Bella follows along, the early morning sun already making its way behind overcast clouds, to which Renee comments that she and Edward should come back when the weather is more agreeable. Bella doesn't even attempt another lie about visiting. Instead, she untucks her left hand from her oversized cardigan, subtly brandishing her engagement ring in the dim light of sunrise. On cue, Renee gasps, grabbing at Bella's hand to twist it this way and that, examining the ring with wide sky-blue eyes. "Oh goodness. Bella, is this…?"

She smiles with unrestrained happiness. "Edward proposed after graduation."

Renee blinks. "I never thought you'd be getting married, baby, especially not so young."

"He's what I want," Bella responds. "I'm very sure about this, Mom. We're not getting married for several years yet, anyway."

"And he loves you - it's obvious enough. I've never seen anything like it," Renee confesses. "When you move, he moves…You orbit around each other."

"He's my soulmate," Bella says simply.

"But are you sure you're not rushing things? There's not…another reason, is there?" Renee asks skeptically, dropping her eyes to Bella's flat stomach for the barest of a second.

"I'm not pregnant! Oh, my God!"

"Are you sure? A mother always knows, baby."

Bella rolls her eyes, twisting the ring on her finger a few times. "I'm still a virgin. Maybe not lily-white anymore, but he's old fashioned. He wants to wait for marriage before… Anyway, I'll be going to my marriage bed with my honor intact."

"You seem a bit sensitive about the issue," Renee observes with twitching lips.

Bella scowls. "Yes, well, my virginity seems to be a topic of interest to just about everyone."

"Oh?"

"Edward has a brother - Emmett - who relishes in teasing us," she explains, though of course it's more than just Emmett. Her mouth drops open when Renee starts giggling uncontrollably. "Mom! Stop laughing! No, it's horrible!"

The moment of levity sets the tone for the rest of their time together. Renee even gets over Edward's dazzling good looks to ask him about his plans for the future, while Phil seems to get past the slight unease all humans feel toward vampires as if sensing an apex predator in their midst. When the time nears for their departure, Edward calls a cab to the house, even as Renee blusters about weather delays due to a few heavy clouds in the sky, clearing reaching for any reason to stretch their time out - and Bella strengthens her resolve, saying a tearful farewell as the taxi idles in the driveway. She lingers in the embrace, not unlike a hug shared in an airport last August, wallowing in the desert warmth of her mother's mind as she knows deep down it will be the very last time she will ever encounter a mind so warm and free.

She still feels Renee's kiss to her cheek when the plane reaching flying altitude.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

When they land in Rome, Edward is already covered head-to-toe in a high-necked lightweight sweater and a knit cap that shades his face; if he ducks his head, he is able to completely avoid the sun peeking between the eaves as they weave through the throngs of people milling about the international airport. Bella leads the way, towing Edward by the hand while he insists on shouldering their bags. They move toward the car rental kiosk, but he pulls them to a stop, head turned sharply in one direction - and Bella latches onto his telepathy, listening to familiar thoughts that reach them loud and clear through the dense crush of humans.

 _The printesa has arrived_ , Dimitri notes from his hidden position in the driver's seat of some unbelievably fancy car with black-tinted windows, so dark not even vampire sight gives him away. They would have completely missed him had it not been for Edward's gift, which was surely the entire point.

Dutifully, Bella starts off in the direction of the car, talking over her shoulder to Edward. "Did you know one of the first thoughts I had about you - before we met - was that your car was a bit pretentious?"

He smirks, squeezing her hand. "Not the Debussy?"

"Well, that too…But I take it back. This is pretentious," she says of the car, the door of which opens before she can even reach for the handle. She stares at the dark interior and the empty back seat before sliding in, catching Dimitri's eyes in the rearview mirror with a small smile.

"Ostentatious," Edward agrees, moving at human-speed as he drops their luggage into the trunk and then sliding in beside her, draping his arm over her shoulder. "Dimitri, nice to see you again."

"Hello, _printesa_ ," Dimitri intones genially. "Edward."

Unlike the Cullens, Dimitri drives at an acceptable speed which Edward thinks is a damn shame. Although she doesn't quite get it, she supposes that a car like this should be speeding along the winding, narrow Italian roads rather than slinking along at the same speed of human drivers. Bella appreciates the time that driving at this speed allows though; she is able to really appreciate the old-world beauty of the land around them, so very different from America. There is something about the Italian landscape that evokes a sense of lethargy, as if the rest of the world could and would wait. And Volterra, with its architecture alone, might be one of the most beautiful places Bella had ever personally laid eyes on. She can see why the Volturi would be reluctant to leave such a place.

Felix is waiting in the underground parking lot that Dimitri drives into, his massive body nearly vibrating in excitement. "Good day, _principessa_!" he exclaims, dipping into a bow only deep enough to show respect.

Bella holds her hand out with a wide smile, allowing Felix to press a small kiss to her knuckles, followed quickly by Dimitri once he has assisted Edward with their bags. "I've missed you two," she says plainly. "How have you been?"

And because Dimitri is still holding her hand - and because he is so accustomed to doing so with Aro - he releases a swell of memories from the last time they saw each other, rapidly filling her in on both his and his mate's well-being. It's a bit startling, to be honest, and she takes several moments to sort through the dump of information before smiling again, this time in bemusement. It seems that the cat is out of the bag about where Dimitri, Felix, Jane, and Alec had disappeared to the month before; they'd been very popular upon their return with the remaining Volturi guard exceedingly curious about what the blood-daughter of Aro was like. Additionally, there was also some disquiet from the handful of vampires who were new the guard - vampires that had been given gifts of uncooperative vampires via Mele's power transference in the spring - and who had met the wrong end of Jane and Alec's glares for their indifference or downright scorn of Bella. All sanctioned by Aro, of course.

She isn't sure whether to be touched or disturbed - and so settles on having no reaction at all, though she does exchange a heavy glance with Edward as she pulls away from Dimitri. Edward, thankfully, is relaxed in the very place that he has regarded with dread for so long; she's glad for it, because Bella is inexplicably nervous about being here. Now that she is in Volterra, part of her mind trembles with the idea that nothing would go as planned. The two Volturi guards guide them into the castle through a series of stone hallways that grow more and more obviously old the deeper they go; by the time they are in the castle proper, the stone hallways are made of carvings and tapestries and priceless pieces of artwork. She makes a note to drag her grandparents from their throne room to explain the history behind each collection she passes - and more importantly, why these collections aren't in museums.

There are many unfamiliar faces they come across as they skirt closer and closer to the center of the castle - an assortment of attractive, cloaked vampires who pause, nostrils flaring, and then fall in line behind Bella and Edward and Felix, with Dimitri at the helm. One of the unfamiliar faces is human - Gianna - who acts as a sort of receptionist for the Volturi and greets Bella with a pretty smile, by far the most casual greeting she has received all day. Bella smiles back, head tilting slightly when a brush of Edward's fingers over the back of her hand informs her that Gianna has been promised immortality in return for her services. Interesting.

Dimitri pushes the double doors open, standing aside to let Bella and Edward pass. The whisper-quiet sound of feet following behind them stops after the entryway is cleared, the doors falling shut with a soft click. And then the sea of vampires begins to part, giving Bella her first view of the elevated platform holding three unmistakably ornate thrones and three decidedly powerful vampires, two of dark hair and one of icy white-blonde.

Aro stands, holding his arms out with a beaming smile. "Precious!"

She pauses, dipping her head in deference. "Grandfather," she murmurs, stepping forward with both of her hands held out, engagement ring glittering in the low light of the large, square room. Edward remains a few steps behind her, hands held behind his back and posture erect, the perfect picture of collection.

Aro's cool fingers grip her own. _My precious granddaughter_ , he croons, fascinated by the memories that she shows him - of her changes, of her ability, of the battle, and of the aftermath that she has only now stopped struggling with so much. _How delighted I am to see you, darling._

Bella responds in kind, laughing lightly. _Where is Grandmother?_

 _One of her many projects has claimed her attention in the solarium._

 _Might I see her now?_

"All in due time," he says aloud, fondly cupping her cheek. "Come, you must meet your Uncles Marcus and Caius. They have been very eager to make your acquaintance, precious, along with the rest of the guard."

Later, Bella will contend that her uncles were less eager and more curious to meet her - Caius was openly perplexed by her existence, while Marcus spent several moments marveling at her ability to have a fully-fleshed mating bond. She has the sense that they are already caught up with all details pertaining to her and that this meet-and-greet is just for show, something she wouldn't put past Aro to do at all. It is a struggle to desist from feeling like a shiny new toy, especially when Bella is passed from guard to guard, each who show her a cautious sort of deference that is, at best, artificial. None are openly hostile - those who might have been had already been weeded by Aro and removed by Mele earlier in the year - but neither are they friendly, except for those who she would count as her friends. As Aro watches the scene indulgently, Felix and Dimitri move as her shadows, right along with Edward.

It's a bit funny. Surely they know that she is the most dangerous creature in the castle, right? She may not like it, but Bella is more than capable of dropping anyone who dared to threaten her or her mate. All it would take was a touch.

She maintains her affable façade, though she does brighten honestly once she catches sight of three faces she had been looking for. "Alistair!"

He returns her greeting with a graceless smile, more teeth than an expression of emotion - and Bella represses a snort at how out-of-place the upward turn of his lips are on his face. She must not do a very good job, though, because Alistair scowls, casting a darkly narrowed eye in her direction as he turns away, stepping behind his mate's shoulder to rest among the shadows.

Jane actually steps forward to hug her, something which shocks several guards enough that they actually gasp audibly. "I see you have been well," Jane says stiffly, though a smile touches her crimson eyes as she catches sight of Bella's engagement ring.

"As have you," Bella observes, eying the incredibly obvious bite mark that rests high on Jane's neck, right beneath her jaw.

Jane sneers and then it is her brother's turn. Alec - of course - bows more deeply than required. "Mistress Isabella, how wonderful that we meet again," he expresses obnoxiously, once again for his own entertainment.

"Wonderful isn't the word I'd use," she snipes in response, softening the comment with a twitch of her lips.

From his perch on the throne, Aro laughs in delight.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

And so pass the days in Volterra, an arguably very strange, very isolated place. She's stunned that humans are brought in like takeout delivery - she knew, of course, that was Heidi's role in the Volturi, the lure of her siren's call putting scores of humans at ease, but it is something else entirely to see it. Bella is discomfited to witness it and more disturbed to note that the itch in her throat begins to burn when human veins are opened. She can scent it for days afterward and leans on Edward to find some respite in her unexpected reaction.

Her mate, for his part, handles it all with grace. Some of the Volturi are intrigued by his gift as well as his life style and when Bella is in session with the Kings of the Volturi, Edward spends his time with the guards - networking for lack of a better term. With his ability to pluck thoughts directly out of minds, it doesn't ever take long for Edward to convince yet another vampire that animal blood isn't so bad as to not give it a shot at least once. He presents it like a challenge, positively mimicking Emmett's methods of persuasion for vampires who are more skeptical.

Bella is glad that Edward is not bothered by being in Italy - one less worry to occupy her mind as she wades deep into hour-long discussions about the new world order that Aro has been dreaming of for nearly two thousand years.

A new world order that Bella knows how to deliver, if only given the chance.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"I'm not being hyperbolic when I say that you're extremely out of touch with reality," she says one day, seated on a velvet ruby chaise lounge. Aro, Marcus, and Caius are scattered around the room in various immobile positions, each of them willing to listen to her for the moment. She knows that the attention they are giving her, the opportunity to convince them that her way is better, is a very rare occurrence and so she does not beat around the bush. "You want the human world for yourselves, for power or for peace, but do you even know the state of things? Entire parts of the world are dying of hunger and disease; dictators are war-mongering for profit; terrorism is liable to kill us all before global warming does. And none of that is to even touch upon social inequality. You say you want vampire society to become one with human society, but what have you done to make it happen? Nothing. You can't really expect to get what you want just by languishing in your ivory towers, can you?"

" _Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself,_ " Aro quotes, referencing something Tolstoy once said.

"Exactly," Bella nods. "If you ever want the world at your fingertips the way you say that you do, then you can't possibly allow the world to continue on as it is. You certainly have the coin to end the debts of countries several times over, the resources to stop terrorism in its tracks, and the ability to provide medicine, water, and food aid where it is needed."

"We haven't wanted to interfere in human issues," Marcus explains.

She shakes her head. "But you can't have it both ways. You cant want the world and then let it burn at the same time."

"What would you have us do, precious?"

Bella stands at her grandfather's prodding. "It's not something that could happen overnight. It would take time. You'd have to start small, inserting yourself into world governments and fixing their issues from the inside out - gain the trust of the humans without letting them know that you're not human yourself. And you'd have to do something about vampire laws. You enforce only one - the secret - and even then it's not enforced consistency. Where's the judicial system? Where are the actual laws, the legislation that outlines crime and punishment? It's no wonder the Volturi are slowly losing the respect of the vampire world - you're viewed as nothing more than particularly violent oligarchs by half the nomads and covens. You need to actually write enforceable laws and enforce them yourselves instead of waiting to be asked for aid. And what's more, your laws can't be only about vampires - they need to protect humans, too -

Caius scoffs. "You would have us neutered-"

"I wouldn't!" she retorts. "But how would you expect humans to trust you, to want to copulate with vampires and knowingly create hybrids, if you don't even bother to ensure that humans aren't safe in their cities, in their homes? I mean, take Victoria for instance - she must have caused fifty deaths in the space of a month alone, between siring vampires and feeding them hapless humans. That can't happen. Vampires can't just be allowed to feed whenever they want - there has to be a better way that doesn't reduce you to feeding on animals -

"What do you suggest, child?"

Bella shrugs. "I don't know yet, but there's time. A scientific solution can be found, I'm sure."

"And you'll be the one to find it?"

She lifts her chin in defiance of Uncle Caius caustic tone. "Why not me? I already plan on studying medicine - I might as well do that and find an alternate food source that is acceptable to the vampire palate. I'm not entirely convinced that it's actually blood that vampires thrive on anyway; it seems much more likely that it's the macro and micronutrients carried in blood than the blood itself. I mean, remove the iron and other bits, and blood is just water…"

"Fascinating," Aro decides. "But darling, what makes you think that the humans would be willing to actually trust the undead agents who have infiltrated their governments over the course of several decades? They fear us, and rightly so."

Bella blinks. "I'm sorry, but you're suffering under the rather peculiar misconception that you're not alive."

The three ancient vampires startle at her flat proclamation and she shakes her head, finding it very usual and far-reaching that none had bothered to view themselves as anything other than reanimated for three thousand years. It must be a product of their time, to inherently believe that they are soulless, not alive; it might even be a byproduct of being innate, instinctive killers. In fact, feeding off of human blood for so long and so violently must be hell on the psyche. It was worth noting that of all the Cullens, it was Edward and Jasper - the only two to feed from humans for a period of time - had the notion that they were somehow demonized, while Carlisle and Rosalie - two in particular who had never drank a drop of human blood - still maintained the idea that they were living some semblance of life. Human blood was corrosive to the vampire mind, in a way, and that was all the more reason to find a solution for the feeding issue.

"Since when has heartbeat been an indicator of life?" she asks. "Plants do not have hearts, and yet they are most certainly still alive."

"We are not plants," Caius points out scathingly.

Bella remains unbothered by his tone. "Well, it's easier to comprehend if you view vampirism as a disease."

"A disease- Aro! This girl of yours is completely nonsensical!" he exclaims.

Bella sighs. "Actually, it's an inheritable disease if we want to be specific - I'm living proof. Theoretically, the virus delivered by the venom of a vampire bite causes a mutation of the cells, which is why the human body undergoes such drastic changes. And somewhat like other human diseases, the changes are physical and they cause a change in diet, along with the way the body digests life-sustaining nutrients. I posit that vampires are actually just highly evolved in terms of cell productivity. Vampire bodies are incredibly efficient, delivering nutrients to cells so rapidly that other organs become vestigial with no wasted energy at all. And, to be frank, if you were actually dead, I highly doubt you would be able to have sex, as the production of ejaculate would indicate that body productivity is still processing. If you were dead, it would be impossible to, er - to mate, let alone heal your bodies, produce venom, or even lubricate your eyes….All signs point to life," she finishes bluntly. "Just a different sort of life. A new definition."

Marcus sits down and Caius seems to have been rendered mute.

Bella bites her lip, looking at her grandfather, who has frozen with his head cocked to the side as he processes her utterly sound logic. "I think that humans would accept that, don't you?"

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is July.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

That is the year that forever changed Isabella Swan's life.

 **A/N: Credit where credit is due - the dancing scene in this chapter came directly from a comment from a certain someone on Facebook, otherwise we would have been without that moment of sweetness!**

 **Eep! You guys! It's done! DAS ENDE, you know what I mean? Except, you know, for the epilogue…and then the other epilogue. But then after that it's DONE!...I mean, except for the outtakes…**

 **Speaking of outtakes! If you want to submit an idea for an outtake, either stick it in a review or a PM or find me on Facebook - I am considering all ideas, including scenes from the story written from other perspectives. If you want to see it, then let me know. No guarantees that every outtake proposal will be met, but I'll do my best!**

 **I'll be accepting outtake requests until MARCH 31, 2017.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	15. epilogue: the breaking dawn

**epilogue**

 **the breaking dawn**

* * *

 **And so we remained till the red of the dawn began to fall through the snow gloom. I was desolate and afraid, and full of woe and terror. But when that beautiful sun began to climb the horizon life was to me again.**

 **\- Bram Stoker**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The occasion of their wedding is observed in late November, in the precise location where their first kiss was shared a year earlier. The meadow is populated by scores of autumnal blooms and fallen leaves - burnt orange to gamboge to gentle saffron - raked to the edges of the tree line. In the middle stands a canopy alter of rich cherry wood and swathes of champagne and tea-rose organza, cloistered with bundles of sunflowers that are also weaved into the bouquet Bella carries down the aisle, her arm hooked into the crook of Charlie's elbow.

Edward's keen vision sights her beyond the veil and he seems to be overwhelmed by the moment, his breath visibly catching as he stands - tall and proud and unspeakably gorgeous - at the altar. Bella hopes he notices the vintage inspiration found in the lace and cut of her bridal gown, a tea-length ivory silk dress with pearlescent appliques clustered around the modest boat-neck. She certainly notices the timeless quality of his suit, the deepest shade of bistre accented with a faintly metallic tie that compliments the coppery tones in his bronze hair perfectly.

For a moment, she cannot breathe. Her lungs won't work and her skin feels too tight. She continues in her path, though, cantering down the aisle with a driven sort of focus. She needs to touch Edward - she needs to know what he's thinking. They need to be _connected_.

By the emotion swimming in his butterscotch gaze, she's almost certain that he shares the same desire.

Charlie hands her off, pressing a kiss to the apple of her cheek, and Bella barely notices. She and Edward see only each other, surrounded by allies and loved-ones alike, all loosely arranged in a semi-circle with the wedding party lined on either side. Aro officiates, a solemn responsibility that he takes great care to perform perfectly.

And when they share their first kiss as husband and wife, matching platinum bands on their left ring fingers - hers nestled beneath the face of her engagement ring - she is again reminded that together they are _incendiary_.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Where are we?"

"Well, Mrs. Masen," Edward begins lightly as he stands behind her on the front porch of a quaint cottage stuck up the northern ridge of Hadley Bay on Victoria Island. It is essentially the Middle of Nowhere Canada, the island as large as a small country with all of its inhabitants living on a southern bay town a hundred miles away, a place that they'd passed through for just long enough to park the Volvo and take their bags; they'd run the rest of the way, hands clasped, chilly wind breaking against smiling cheeks until coming across this little home. Her mate - her _husband_ \- goes on to explain that the cottage is his, a place that he'd used as a retreat from the constant noise of minds over the last sixty-or-so years. He'd had it built in the 40's, which explained the faint traces of art deco still lingering in the geometric cut of some of the architecture and in the thin sill of the windows. It was far enough away from everything that she can only hear the chirp of birds. She imagines it must be a haven for Edward.

Her tour of _their_ cottage is perfunctory at best. He stows their miniscule luggage, shows her the book-lined fireplace in the living room, the little standing baby grand in what should have been the dining area, the kitchen that he would stock for her when she was sleeping - whenever that would be - and finally the bedroom which, interestingly, does have a bed. Rather sheepishly, he explains that he'd hired humans to come out and clean the cottage up, as well as set up the bedroom, once he had decided on a honeymoon destination.

Bella smiles, wrapping her arms around his torso, her chin settled just under his collarbones, which peek through the opened button of his Oxford shirt. "It's lovely," she says - of the Hadley Bay cottage and of the finely-carved rosewood bed awaiting them not two feet away, a queen mattress covered in malachite bedding and a veritable mountain of pillows.

Edward leans down, capturing her lips. _You are lovely._

 ** **o.o.o****

* * *

 **o.o.o**

He makes a point to always be touching her skin - either with his hands or his lips, but most often with both as he ghosts touch over her entire body, swaddling her in the brilliant, lustful cadence of his mind. As he lowers the strap of her isabelline-white dress, his mouth follows, working against the contours of her collarbone and shoulder blade, then nipping down the curve of her spine as he lowers the zipper at an unhurried pace, palms pressed between fabric and skin as he peels the dress down to her hips until it pools at her feet. Her lingerie, lacey and the same shade of his eyes, soon follows as he fondles and teases, hips occasionally bucking against her rear when she lets out a particularly loud moan.

She aches for him, her heart thudding heavily - faster, it seems, even though such a thing isn't possible. She places her hands over his as he straightens behind her, chest pressed against her back, a faint rumbling purr resonating as he inhales deeply. He groans at her scent, at the musky sweetness of her arousal. He wants to taste.

And so he does, guiding her to lay back on the bed, then wedging his shoulders between her knees, tongue flicking against her exposed sex - drawing her to the edge and then backing off over and over again until she clenches down on his fingers, grabs two fistfuls of his hair, and holds his mouth against her in demand. Only then, after she has pleaded for release, does he wiggle his tongue against her swollen nub. Edward holds her hips down when she comes, relentlessly moving against her until another orgasm pings off the first and then the second.

She whines, trying to push him away. He concedes after a last lingering lick, and then another suckle before he turns his face into the crook of her thigh, heavy-lidded dark eyes finding hers.

Bella catches her breath as he stands to shed the remainder of his clothes. His is a perfect form of masculine beauty, forever frozen at the peak of lithe musculature, lanky limbs, and chiseled joints; strong shoulders and narrow hips, long fingers and wide palms, lush lips that still shine with her essence. He is almost too beautiful to look at, but she can't take her eyes off of him, her muscles clenching on air as she spies the tumescent length between his sharp hips. She lays naked before him, comfortable and spread open to his gaze - for his pleasure, should he wish to look. He does, eyes flicking between her own, to her breasts, down to where she is hot and ready for him.

She holds her hands out, an invitation, and he answers by prowling slowly up her body, hands firmly tracing the arch of her foot, the jut of her ankle, the line of her legs, and then her hips, thumbs pressing deep into the hollows above her hipbones. He kisses her center once, dragging his lips over her quivering stomach to pay his respects to her breasts, all while his mind roves over a series of indistinct desires. He is nearly beset by lust, hanging on by a thread of restraint that baffles her.

Edward wants to take his time.

Bella growls, cupping his jaw to bite and suck at his lips, their kiss wild with ardor. _We have eternity to take our time_ , she tells him, spreading her legs wider in response to the nestle of his hips between the cradle of hers. They both gasp as he rubs against her, his glans pressing deliciously over her clit - and then lower. He enters her slowly, carefully, inch by inch with his forehead against the side of her throat, mouthing at the crook of her neck.

She drags her nails down his back when he has entered her fully, digging her fingers into the divots near his spine, arcing beneath the weight of his body, fluttering around him. Edward snarls, hips surging just that much deeper, starting the ancient dance that they know so instinctively. He hitches one leg higher on his hip, adjusting the angle as his lips fall open, brushing against hers as they share ragged breaths.

" _Oh…oh-"_ Bella's gasping retaliations to his every thrust break off in place of a long-sustained moan as she clenches around him, breasts tight against his chest, fangs lengthening - so far beyond her control as she spirals into the thrashing heat of orgasm again. She's still coming when she turns her head to bite at the top of his shoulder, teeth sinking in deep, eyes rolling upward in ecstasy -

Edward roars, thrusting hard and deep as he releases, hands ripping at the pillows near her head.

Bella licks at the bite she has just given him, dizzy and breathless as she gathers herself for a moment - and then, using her speed and strength against him while he is still reeling, she flips them until she is straddled over his lip, his length even deeper than before and just as hard. She tosses her hair over her shoulder, rolling her hips slowly, finding a rhythm that makes his mouth slacken. And then she curves her hands around the nape of his neck, guiding those lush lips to the base of her throat.

"Your turn," she murmurs, shivering as his palms glide down her back to settle low on her bottom, guiding her movements even as he laves at her skin, teeth scraping against the pulse of her throat -

And so goes the honeymoon.

* * *

 **A/N: So, regarding why I chose** _ **Masen**_ **as the married surname instead of** _ **Cullen**_ **\- it just made sense, to me, that she would take his human name. I could argue the merits, but I won't because I just don't really feel like it. *shrugs* We're lucky that I didn't make** _ **him**_ **take Swan as a surname, honestly, because I** _ **personally**_ **don't believe in changing your name after marriage. Hyphenate that thing and get on with your day; no way would** _ **I**_ **just give up part of my identity. Is that, like, super aggressively millennial of me?**

 **Note on the honeymoon spot: to my knowledge there aren't any vacation homes, for vampires or otherwise, anywhere near Hadley Bay on Victoria Island. But it's fiction, so fuck it!**

 **There's another epilogue next and then the outtakes.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	16. epilogue: a new thousand years

**epilogue**

 **a new thousand years**

* * *

 **If the stars should appear but one night every thousand years, how man would marvel and stare.**

 **\- Ralph Waldo Emerson**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Aro is a patient man.

But until the moment he laid eyes on his long-awaited heir - squalling and _so very pink_ \- grown and so vibrantly, fiercely intelligent - he had not understood what he was being patient _for_. Had not understood what his patience was leading him to discover.

He despairs in quiet moments. He has been utterly foolish, wasting the lives of his first born and of her son, shuttering them far away from himself because they were not _useful_ -

Mistaken. He'd been so utterly mistaken. It is not often that Aro will admit to hubris, but under the gentle-handed touch of his great-great-granddaughter, he is humbled. Brought back firmly to the ground. Anchored. Returned to sanity. Shown his mistakes, his ego, his arrogance. Spied the inevitability of his fall - because Aro was not unlike Icarus flying too close to the sun, the wax of his wings melting, faltering until he would drown in the great sea, the endless darkness and forever night.

He is a patient man - and a foolish one - but it has paid off.

Isabella has delivered everything that her very existence promised - a gifted child of his blood, a natural heir to his reign, the most priceless piece of his collection. And then, she had done the unexpected. She had delivered _more_ than what was guaranteed. She had saved them all, in a way, and certainly from themselves.

She is a cerebral little thing, analytic and without artifice. A fixer of problems once she has been made aware that they exist. She had found solutions that Aro couldn't dream of - synthetic blood in tall, glass-capped bottles that tastes better than the real thing, a world of 6 billion people brought to peace without war or famine or pestilence, a unified global peace under rule of a council of elected officials from every nation who answer to the _Volturi_. A better way of life, all done methodically, scientifically. Deliberate. If he didn't know any better, he would be sure that Isabella had been gifted thrice over, with a roadmap to the future paved firmly in her mind - but he did know better. Her successful planning, each painstakingly cautious detail, came from the vast well of her intelligence, a thing that she gained, something she earned.

So long ago, when she was still bird-boned and green-bellied, she had sat in a parlor in the castle in Volterra and she had promised the world to the Volturi.

Aro didn't imagine that she would have attained the world so flawlessly -

But then, he does recall the moment of her coronation, as well - remembers the weight pressing along his hands as he laid a gleaming platinum circlet on top of a head full of cascading espresso-dark curls, a neck bowed in willful submission even though - in that moment - he had not been sure whom had dominion over whom.

His minds eye paints a lovely picture of his precious grandchild's bright smile, of the Volturi crest worn in a necklace between the dip of her collarbones, and he knows that - most days - it is Isabella who rules the world.

After all, is that not her right as the person who was solely responsible for changing the world over the course of five hundred years?

Patient as he is, he cannot wait to see what she will do in another five hundred.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Aro has never felt dread like this before - as if dread was pinching at the corners of his joints, from the roots of his hair down to the very tips of his toes, roiling in a stomach long-empty like lead and battering nails.

"I'm pregnant," Isabella repeats, this time frowning over her shoulder at her mate - Edward of the youthful and solemn countenance, the effortless telepath - before gliding forward, one hand settled over the slight roundness protruding from between her hipbones. Her other hand she holds out, palm facing upward. "Grandfather?"

Dread shifts into panic. His wide eyes dart down to her stomach, to the innocent parasite growing there - the thing that would steal her life -

 _Is that what you're worried about_?

Aro startles at her voice within his mental space. Her hand is on his, just a brush over his own palm, and then more firmly as she smiles, showing him a collection of disorganized thoughts by rote before going on to explain them. She was not in any danger, although this is very difficult for him to believe. He has seen the birth of vampiric children, of course, and they are always unsuitably, wretchedly violent.

But of course - of course Isabella would have a solution already. She holds more doctorates in the medicine-based sciences than Aro can keep track of, all part of her determination to become a doctor for the hybrids that would soon begin to populate the world at a faster rate. She'd made no bones about wanting to suss out everything she could about her own biology, wrapped up for endless days in a laboratory with microscopes and Zeus knew what else. Aro didn't follow half of it; not his area of expertise.

He makes a token effort now, thought, as her thoughts ghost over the statistics that her brain has puzzled out, explanations for questions that linger far, far in the back of his mind. Male vampires are always fertile; female vampires not at all; and hybrid females barely at all. The margin is so slim for her to even become pregnant that it's almost staggering. This child growing within her was a miracle of all sorts of proportions.

… _only a hundred years of unprotected sex to make it happen…_ says a thought far in the background, almost buried completely beneath the landslide of reassurances that Isabella is quite literally hand-feeding him.

 _Modern science_ , she explains and there are words thrown out like _caesarian_ and phrases like, _I've been working on a concentrated form of the healing properties within my - our - venom to be of use on humans suffering great injury without the risk of turning them_ and even _Carlisle agrees that I should be perfectly fine_.

 _Should be_ , echoes Aro's mind. There was nothing assuring about _shoulds_ when it was quite possible that birthing this child would steal his precious granddaughter from the world entirely -

His eyes shoot over her shoulder to her mate, noting the fissure of tension in his brow. A small part of Aro relaxes; if even her mate is concerned, then he feels less ridiculous in his frantic panic in the face of her cool serenity.

"I'll be fine," she promises as she pulls her hand away.

"Will you stay in the tower?" Aro asks, cutting his teeth on his tongue to dull the sharp edge of frenetic energy seeping out of his mouth. It is a good thing they are all alone in the living room of this penthouse in New York, the new epicenter of Volturi rule; he can only imagine how darkly entertained Caius would be at his reaction to this news.

Isabella pauses, frowning. "Really, I ought to be in the lab back in Chicago - I shouldn't just abandon my projects…"

"There are labs here, love," Edward reminds her - thankfully before Aro has the chance to. "I'm sure Carlisle wouldn't mind manning the Chicago labs by himself for a while."

Her head tilts in consideration, light glinting off the crest hanging so lightly from her neck, fingers tapping twice over the swell of her abdomen. "Well, I suppose that would work. But based on my estimation, he'll need to be here for the delivery in January….I'll go call him about the arrangements…"

Neither Edward or Aro move as she wanders out of the room, plucking a slim phone from her pocket -

Aro meets Edward's eyes. _Her life first_ , he thinks quite loudly.

Edward nods once - agreeing without argument.

Good. He is glad they are on the same page.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

As fearful as Aro had been of this pregnancy, as Isabella progresses through the next month with an ever-growing stomach, he is entertained from his anxiety by a few light hearted moments. Later, he will reflect how glad he is that vampiric pregnancies for hybrids last only four months as he cannot imagine living for much longer with the worry clawing away at his psyche; Sulpicia is already quite annoyed at his obsessive motherhenning, and he feels that Isabella is not too far behind.

As it is, Aro is just relieved that _he_ had not been foolish enough to interrupt Isabella's reading. He mate, on the other hand, had not hesitated to tease her as she reclined on the couch in front of the fire, Christmas light shining white and red over the living room. " _Dead Souls?_ Oh, dear God," says Edward lightly, facetious.

Isabella tilts her chin up. "What? Too high-brow for you, 1918?" she hisses venomously.

Edward hastens to school his expression - he is right to be leery of irking her at the moment, as pregnancy has _not_ turned Isabella into a peaceful example of nurture and motherhood. Quite the opposite; in fact, the closer she comes to her due date and the scheduled surgery that would safely remove child from mother, Isabella had been rather unpleasant to be around.

Aro slinks into the shadows, leaving his granddaughter to give her mate a tongue-lashing that he knows will inevitably be followed by a demanding request for some utterly disgusting combination of food that he would rather not witness the consumption of.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Twins, a boy and a girl, each with a shock of dark bronze hair and bright green eyes, healthy and gifted and so _small_ that it reminds Aro he had never held a child, not even his precious Isabella.

Elisabet Rena and Theodore Charles Masen.

It is Elisabet who had inherited the closest approximation to Isabella's - and Aro's - primary gift, her pudgy snow-pale hand slapping against his immobile skin with a series of thoughts and images. She does not seem to respond to the thoughts in Aro's mind and Isabella confirms that Elisabet's gift seemed to go only one way. Theodore had inherited a better mimicry of Isabella's absorption, stealing thoughts as easily as Aro and as limited as Edward, again triggered by touch and again working in only one direction.

The twins were two halves of a whole - one who gave and one who took.

They all wonder if the twins will mature into giving and receiving more than just thoughts - if the twins also have a shielded shadow in their minds, if there would be one twin that would overwhelm with energy and one twin that would absorb energy like a sponge.

Time would only tell.

But Aro is a patient man - and a man who has learned from his mistakes.

He would endeavor to enjoy the lives of his great-great-great-grandchildren.

* * *

 **A/N: So, final official chapter and final official epilogue delivered in Aro's POV…because I like the symmetry and because he's a surprisingly easy character to write. Also, I really,** _ **really**_ **didn't want to write the pregnancy bit from Bella or Edward's perspective because it's** _ **so freaking done already -**_ **so we got it from Aro! Plus, got to resolve his character development. #winning**

 **Why not Reneesme? Other than it being a stupid name? Ah, well. I wanted to honor both mothers - Elizabeth Masen and Renee Dwyer - and so we come very easily to the modern Greek and old English forms of both names, just because I like the spelling better. As to Theodore Charles, I wasn't looking for derivatives very much, but because I thought Teddy was just too cute for a baby boy and Ted is a shortened version of Edward (somehow) - for Edward Sr. - and obviously Charles after Charlie...Anyway, you can see how I linked everything up in my head. It always makes so much sense in my head!**

 **And for pregnancy, here it is: The way I see it, if male vampires can get humans pregnant but not female vampires pregnant, that leads me to believe that a frozen uterus is just that - frozen. I mean, if I'm really thinking about it, on the surface it doesn't make sense that dudes can produce sperm forever but lady vamps just lose the ability to reproduce completely. However, human woman** _ **are**_ **born with like a crap-ton of immature eggs and once they run out, they run out; human dudes on the other hand are still pumping out little soldiers until they day they die. Unfair and stupid, but that's biology. (And a glaring plot hole, SM, I cannot believe she didn't explain that shit - ever.) Anyway, I figure that if hybrids still have a heart beat, they definitely are still having a functioning uterus - just maybe with a super slow cycle? And because of that, they're not exactly infertile - it's more like Russian roulette pregnancy with super-low odds of winning. Anyway. God, but how nice would it be to only have a period once every ten years? #livingthedream**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**

 **Note: Stay tuned for the outtakes, which I will hopefully finish before the month is up.**


	17. the outtakes: cruelty

**the outtakes**

 **cruelty**

* * *

 **The infliction of cruelty with a good conscious is a delight to moralists. That is why they invented Hell.**

 **\- Bertand Russell**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Her husband - her lover - her sire - her mate - her friend - her King -

These are the titles that Sulpicia has bequeathed unto Aro, with all the respect and promises they demanded, as true to her reality as is the breath in her lungs or the sight to her eyes. She adores him, ardent in her devotion -

But his is flirting with madness.

In this life, Sulpicia is not gifted with anything but keen skills of observation. She is a natural-born spy, quick to the shadows with her ear pressed to the ground, a relic of her human life where she could learn only by dubious means - where women were kept in the dark, unenlightened and dependent on fathers and then husbands. Something to be owned. _Respect your betters_ , a mantra drilled into Sulpicia from the first moment awareness of the world tumbling outside of the windows in the sun-bleached home where she grew from girl to woman. _Betters_ had always meant men, a fact that had been inescapable.

But then there had been Aro, a man of twenty-and-five who had been enchanted by her beauty after spotting her in the market place, who had sought her father for her hand, who had eyes of dark moss, a quick wit, and a sharp tongue - and who did not expect Sulpicia to lower herself to remain at his side. Aro was a scholar, a philosopher. He had strange ideas.

Sulpicia was destined to love him.

It had been a tragedy, then, when Aro had disappeared in Athens. Sulpicia spent months in mourning, crying beneath olive trees, pleading for Aphrodite to have mercy on her heart - and when Aro had returned, appearing in her bedroom one dark night, she had been so certain that the goddess had answered her reverent pleas. Aro had returned after _years_ and although she was no longer a tender ten-and-seven, he did not seem to mind. Aro had stared at her from the shadowed corner where the candlelight did not reach and it did not seem to matter that now she was twenty-and-three.

Of course, it did not seem that the six years of his absence had touched upon Aro at all; he was still tall, less broad then other men, his palms still wide, and the twitching of his lips mercurial. But his eyes had changed. Red, like the fiery sun following Apollo into the night; red, like blood.

He had come back for her, though. He bit into her neck and held her through the change and lured humans to her waiting lips. And then he did the same for his darling sister Didyme, his childhood friend Marcus, his cousin Caius, and a distant relative of Sulpicia's, Athenodora. He was sire to them all, a family possessed by demons, three of them gifted with abilities beyond the imagination of humans. And he'd had his war, had gotten his power, had even seen to the siring of others - some who he kept close, some who he released. When he was done, it was likely that Aro was not only among the eldest vampires in the world, but also the vampire who had sired the most fledglings.

Now, though, even with his power firmly decided, perfectly balanced by three Kings and a burgeoning guard of enforcers, Sulpicia has begun to worry for Aro's sanity.

He wishes to kill Didyme - his sister - for the most minor of offenses. Didyme is too happy, too distracting, and Marcus is near to deciding to the leave the Volturi - to threaten the balance of power. And for that, Didyme would have to die - would have to be an example, a warning to any who would inspire similar crimes of desertion.

A decision like this is -

Aro is not _that_ man. He had never been that man. It defies the very nature of who Aro had been as a human to even contemplate such a vicious action.

And yet, Sulpicia _is_ observant. She sees the signs, the way Aro glares at his blood-kin, the flare of his nostrils in tightly-controlled anger - rage - betrayal -

If he does this, if he commits this cardinal sin - the senseless slaughter of his family - then Sulpicia knows he will spend eternity swirling down a drain of remorse and regret. Madness rots from the inside out, like a bad apple.

She has to do _something_ to distract him. Sulpicia must defy the desire of her _betters_ \- of the man who has claimed her heart - if she wants to save him from himself. And isn't that always the way?

There was only one desire strong enough that could possibly distract him from this illogical vendetta against Didyme, against punishment for a crime not yet committed.

Was it possible?

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Sulpicia remembers Mele as an angry creature quaking with loathing and vitriol, hissing like a viper and utterly dismissive of the invitation extended to her by the Volturi. Mele would not be ruled. She could, however, be persuaded.

When all has been stolen, it is very easy to be baited by the possibility of more - of better.

That is what Sulpicia does. She convinces Mele - in person, under a subterfuge and the ever-quickening threat of treason - that the pain-scarred vampire could _be part_ of something, could share in something, could benefit from all the ties of the Volturi without having any true connection to them. Freedom, but with all the luxuries that came with mutual servitude.

What is a promise of all that in comparison to preserving her love's sanity?

Sulpicia would do much worse if she had to - and she did.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Picking the women is not any task that she relishes in. For as easy as it had been to sway Aro into tacit agreement - spare Didyme and create new life - Sulpicia had not anticipated how difficult the task would be.

Humans are so very _fragile_ in comparison to vampires. The task of modulating his strength while caught in the throws of climax, in the throws of bloodlust, is gargantuan. Sulpicia closes her eyes and refuses to count how many human women had been pulverized by the mindless force of Aro's hips - willing to his touches, but too weak to endure them.

If vampires could feel sickness and nausea, then the afterimages burned into Sulpicia's retinas would turn her stomach. As it is, she has been made anew, stronger than before. More determined. _Respect your betters_ now meant something else entirely.

Is it cruel to repeat the same sin over and over in a quest for something better? Cruel to commit the same garish crime just for the promise of salvation? Was Sulpicia destined to meet Hades in the lowest circle?

She did not know.

It did not matter.

She scans the crowd of the market place again, hidden under shadow and cloak to keep her glittering skin from the sun, and locates her next target. It was _important_ that the women look like Sulpicia, too, and luckily for her, she had been rather plain in her human life - golden skin, even features, wide, dark eyes and equally dark hair. It is an assortment of physical features that are easy to happen upon anywhere in the world. She has seen herself in a thousand human women over the course of a thousand years.

It is not hard to find one that she is prepared to sacrifice, now.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She couldn't have imagined the birth - the sheer violence of it, the rip of blood-warmed skin beneath sharp teeth, the wrench of small hands clawing out of a stomach, mindless in the escape and unheeding of the screeches of the writhing woman who had been nothing more than an incubator -

The mother dies very quickly.

But the babe thrives, even after being imbued with Aro's gift courtesy Mele's mimicry and transfer of power.

Sulpicia cradles the child in her arms, all rabbit-quick heart and milky skin and _Aro_ lurking in every inch of her. "Ari," she murmurs tenderly, stroking down the bubble of a soft cheek. The babe's eyes are mossy green, just as vibrant as Aro's had been.

She raises her eyes to her husband - her lover - her sire - her mate - her friend - her King -

He is saved - he will be saved.

Let the world be damned.

* * *

 **A/N: One outtake request fulfilled! There are a handful of others and they'll probably be about this length - some shorter, some longer - and from various characters and periods of time and they won't be chronological** _ **at all**_ **. Probably. Who the hell knows? Certainly not me - I say one thing, and then BOOM, something else tumbles out. I think I might be cursed? Whatever.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	18. the outtakes: mother

**the outtakes**

 **mother**

* * *

 **When you are a mother, you are never really alone in your thoughts. A mother always has to think twice, once for herself and once for her child.**

 **\- Sophia Loren**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Rosalie encountered her litmus test shortly after her hundredth year of life.

She desperately wanted to be a mother - to hold a child to her breast, to nourish and nurture, to be called _mommy_ \- and she felt the absence of this possibility so keenly that her arms ached, empty and cold. It wasn't a slight to Emmett, who she loved more than life itself, more than the moon loved the stars, and she no longer held any resentment to Carlisle for saving her life. But she felt incomplete, unfinished.

Bitter with it until an impossible near-human girl had waltzed into her life with more secrets than years to her life - and then devastated with it when that same girl showed her the unfettered truth of what Rosalie's deepest desire would cost.

She couldn't do that. She couldn't ask Emmett to do that; she couldn't allow herself to do that. It wasn't right. And in the same way that Rosalie had tenaciously persevered from a single drop of human blood passing her lips, so too did she persist in her refusal to use some poor human woman as a bargaining chip for new life.

It was _wrong_. Sick. And to think that clear-headed _Bella_ had come from such a long line of that kind of unmentionable violation and destruction -

No. No, Rosalie wouldn't do it. She could damn well remain incomplete - from her cells to her very soul - for the rest of her very long life as long as she could respect the sanctity of life. All life, regardless of what a sacrifice might gift her in return. Not even a child to call her own was worth the barter of her morality.

Of course, Rosalie hadn't counted on Bella or the possibilities Bella might bring into their lives. None of them had.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

In the beginning, Rosalie had been so _suspicious_ , just waiting for the girl to open her mouth and purge the secret of the vampire world from her bosom - and when that didn't happen, her hostility had been traded for a grudging respect. And respect had turned into fondness. In Bella, she found a kindred spirit. They were both so _headstrong_ \- though in different ways.

Bella changed the world.

And in doing so, she'd changed _Rosalie's_ world. Altered it for the better.

It was horrifyingly obvious that while Rosalie had answered to the litmus test with resistance, not all vampires would feel the same. And as soon as word spread in their world, even as their kind infiltrated human governments and sub-cultures, it was perhaps inevitable that vampires would succeed in what Rosalie refused to do. They knew it was possible now - male vampires would _father_ children.

Hybrids were born - was born the right word? - in the traditional way, new life traded for old, women gurgling on their own blood as their children were whisked away -

Rosalie didn't like to think about it.

It was too familiar.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She made herself useful to this fraction of the cause - put her medical degree to good work and became the nurse and Carlisle's elbow, and then the nurse at Bella's. A discrete clinic for the human women birthing hybrids, a rule enforced sternly by new Volturi law, became Rosalie's to run, to organize and maintain; and a representative agency for the human women, for surrogate and adoption agreements, seen to by Carmen and Esme. The entire coven was involved in some small way, some more than others.

If Bella was a doctor to dhampirs - the new word for hybrids - then Rosalie was the midwife to their mothers.

It was easier to deal with - easier to see - as time went on. Less violent. There was a serum now, a single injection directly to the site of a wound that would mimic the healing properties of venom. Rosalie personally saw to more caesarean surgeries than she could count.

Better this way, but still hard.

Rosalie was still incomplete.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

They couldn't save everyone. Sometimes, they were simply too late; sometimes, there were unseen complications as Carlisle and Bella continued to encounter variations they hadn't seen before; sometimes, the women still died. Other times, it so happened that the mother was too far away, on the other side of the globe or otherwise unable to make it to the clinic. It wasn't a perfect system. Some slipped through the cracks.

And then - then there were the times when those cracks were gigantic fault lines carved deep into the earth, quaking and crumbling apart because it was too unforeseen, too difficult to contend.

Alice is the one to see it.

The tragedy of it is this: the young girl had been mated with a vampire and had been intending to change after the birth, but her vampire had gotten involved in a territory dispute of some sort and by the time it became known to the Volturi radar, the girl had already progressed to the final trimester, was already _giving birth_ all by herself.

Her life was already forfeit the second her vampire died.

The Volturi bring the child to the clinic in Chicago, delivering the remainder of the tragedy as per directions directly from Sulpicia, who oversaw the global order of such matters -

Rosalie stays away for the first several days. The situation is unprecedented. Never before - not since the agency and the clinic were established - had there ever been a dhampir orphan. It was all so regulated, so monitored, that such a thing just simply didn't happen.

But then - cracks. Yes, there were always fault lines.

Rosalie stays away. It's better for her heart if she does.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Rosie," Emmett murmurs, wide palms settling onto her shoulders, the breadth of his muscular chest pressed against the knobs of her spine. Supportive. Holding her together. She's always been so fragile for him, soft to Emmett where she is untouchable to everyone and everything else.

She closes her eyes. The baby is crying. It is the middle of the night and even though Esme and Carlisle's condo is a floor below theirs, she can still hear the baby wailing -

"Sweetheart, just go and see him," says her mate, soft but unyielding.

Rosalie bows her head, lip pulled tight between her teeth, statue-still as her hearing catches the break of Esme's voice as she tries - futility - to hush the baby. Nothing she does is working. And if the baby doesn't quiet soon, then even Rosalie's niece and nephew - children of five years - would begin to hear the unsettling sound of infant unrest.

She stands, gathering courage from all of her cornerstones -

Downstairs, Esme opens the door before the emergency door even snaps shut at Emmett's back, her expression distraught. Esme's search for motherhood had been filled by the coven and she had no desire to take the child for herself, but with Bella and Edward's hands full with their twins and the fact that Esme _was_ the only other one who had any experience at all with babies, it had only made sense that she would be the child's caregiver until arrangements could be made. But it is clear that Esme is at the ends of her tether - if a baby is not tired or hungry or in need of changing or is colicky, then what could the problem be? If Esme has tried everything, then what else could she do?

"May I?" she breathes, feet like stone in the middle of the hallway, noise rushing through her ears.

She has no idea why Esme's immediate nod seems like permission to more than just _hold_ the baby.

Rosalie ghosts forward, eyes locked on the dusting of honey-hued curls sitting atop the baby's head. She holds her arms out -

Blue eyes, as vivid as the Caribbean sky, as vivid as Emmett's had been when he was human.

Rosalie's lungs feel tight as she adjusts her grip, cradling the baby with as much pressure as she would hold a feather between two fingers -

With some effort, she drags her eyes away from the baby to look up at Esme. Her surrogate mother looks fit to cry and although Rosalie isn't gifted - she can't taste emotions or read minds - she knows that Esme's tears are from joy. Not relief that the baby had stopped crying, but _happiness_ that it had been Rosalie to soothe it.

Because it meant only one thing. An inevitability, truly.

Venom burns in the corners of her eyes, her shoulders shaking as Emmett wraps himself around her, as the baby quiets himself in her arms, staring up at Rosalie with wide, bright blue eyes and hair as blonde as hers - the baby looked so much like the both of them, as if it were predestined -

No. Not the baby - his name was _Emerson_.

"I think he likes you," Emmett intones lowly. He holds a single finger over Emerson's face, dwarfing the baby with his sheer size, the movement of his smiling cheek pressing against the side of Rosalie's face when a tiny pale hand squeezes at Emmett's knuckle.

Her heart feels so full it could burst.

Emerson nuzzles deeper into her arms, eyes drooping now that he has been calmed by Rosalie's touch -

By his mother's touch.

Rosalie feels complete.

* * *

 **A/N: Another outtake request and on we go…**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	19. the outtakes: illusions

**the outtakes**

 **illusions**

* * *

 **"Time is an illusion."**

 **\- Albert Einstein**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _The illusion is important_. That's what she'd told her grandfather when she presented this entire plan to him and the other Kings over that summer so long ago. The _illusions_ were important, especially for humans. It was already going to be a tough blow for them to learn that they _weren't_ at the top of the food chain, harder still for them to learn that the peace spreading through every nation had nothing to do with human innovation and everything to do with vampire initiative.

The illusion had to be observed.

"Just hold still," she sighs with exasperation when, once again, Caius shifts away from Alice's poised make-up brush. "I've already told you, it will be easier if you look - softer."

Caius' lip curls slightly but he holds still long enough for Alice to brush faint rouge over his cheeks, just enough to create the illusion that even old vampires still maintained some humanity. An underhanded tactic, maybe, but she didn't see any way to avoid it.

"Less threatening, you mean," he mutters caustically. He might have seen the wisdom in acting more human than vampire, but he'd made it clear that he _wasn't_ happy about it.

"That too," she agrees. She's just glad that out of all of them, it was only Caius who was being difficult. The rest of the Volturi - the main coven - seemed amiable enough to Didyme's influence to be amused by the entire orchestration that she and Alice had worked up over the course of entire decades, but Caius lived to be contrary.

It's somewhat disconcerting that her little Teddy - all grown up and mated and insisting on being called _Theo_ \- had taken up the same attitude in general. Not all that surprising, she supposes, considering that Caius was his favorite Volturi relative or who Teddy had ended up mated to.

"Precious, are you quite certain that you will not be on the dais-"

" _Stage_ ," she corrects automatically, turning her attention toward Aro.

"- with us? It's such a shame that the human world-"

"Just _world_ , Grandfather, honestly…"

"-will not know the hand you played in their peace! Look how unified they all are! Are you sure you will be content by remaining in the sidelines?"

Bella rolls her eyes. "I'm hardly in the sidelines," she says pointedly, because it was the _truth_. Between being Aro's granddaughter and the public face of dhamphirs, she was rather well-known in the scientific community, a fact that was unavoidable given that she looked seventeen on a good day and that even in 2502 it was somewhat arresting for a teenager to be a doctor. Especially a doctor that happened to be on the cutting-edge of several discoveries.

Beside all that, she never did enjoy the spotlight - and neither did Edward. It was enough that she could operate in the background for the most part and spare them both unnecessary amounts of attention. Her mate enjoyed a certain amount of anonymity within the realm of music and she wasn't going to disrupt that, not even for this.

Moreover - the illusion was important. The world had to believe that it was a trio of ancient Kings who had saved them from themselves, not a slip of girl who was largely uninterested in anything besides _family_ and _discovery_. It would be easier for them all to put trust in the Volturi right from the start, which was why she had tailored her plan into a centuries-long undertaking of slow, gradual changes for the better from the inside out.

She shudders to think what might have happened if Aro - or Caius - had had their way. Or if they had ever made any effort to _actually_ take over the world in the three thousand years before she'd been born.

 _Megalomaniacs_ , she thinks with fondness, inspecting the six vampires awaiting final approval in the backstage area of the auditorium. The main Volturi coven - three happily mated pairs - were the picture of stability. Alice's steady hand had delivered just the softest, most subtle edge of human visage that even the most sensitive technology would translate a certain air of familiarity, even on such startlingly telegenic faces. The slightest illusion of humanity paired with tasteful, fashion-forward clothes struck just the right balance of _trustworthy_ and _powerful_.

It helped, of course, that this news conference at the Global Summit would be held with all the human leaders in the world - of course, not even those human leaders fully realizes that they had been put into power by the Volturi and it would _remain_ that way. It was just another illusion that had to be maintained to avoid inciting mass panic.

"They're ready," Alice says at her side.

Bella tilts her head. "You're sure about the eyes, though?"

A question that did deserve a third inquiry because not even Bella was sure that it was a good idea to trot the Volturi out with the same oddly bright eyes that all vampires who drank synthetic blood eventually gained. Not as frightening as the glaring garnet of newborns or the swimming crimson of human drinkers - _only criminals, else risk death_ \- or the strange gold of animal drinkers, but still alarming and unnatural. It was an unforeseen result of her synthetic formula, this return of eye color had as a human but saturated and lit with a backglow that was a dead giveaway of something _other_.

"They're ready," Alice repeats firmly.

And Bella has to agree - because even with all the illusions that they have to keep, there are some illusions that must be shattered. And the world had to _know_ that the supernormal would be officially in charge now.

It was time.

"Stick to the script," she instructs seriously, leveling a meaningful look to her grandfather. "This is what we've been working toward."

Aro's smile is winsome. "Don't worry, precious, I believe that we know a thing or two about perpetuating illusions."

And really, don't they all?

Her arms are crossed, shoulders high, as the most public faces of the Volturi take stage under a round of diplomatic applause, over three dozen of the world's highest-ranking officials and representatives welcoming them into the fold - or rather, recognizing that the Volturi had a foothold in the fold. Alice has drifted toward Jasper, who had tagged along as an insurance policy _just in case_ some of the human leaders - or their immediate audience - would need a calming influence. In Alice's stead comes Edward, tucking himself around her back with an arm comfortable over her shoulder, mouth pulled taut in concentration as he monitors the thoughts around them. Bella's eyes are locked onto the thin screen showing the live reel that was being transmitted to the rest of the world. The Volturi look good, but her nerves were still betraying her, especially when Aro steps toward the podium -

This moment was the culmination of nearly four hundred years of careful maneuvering. Stop a famine there, eliminate a terrorist here, block that candidate from winning, make sure this delegate votes this way, throw money at that problem and then another problem - and if money didn't fix it, then quiet interventions of brute force, of anonymous aid, of setting up publicity ops to sway the politics -

Everything according to plan. Everything had led up to this.

She should have looked over Aro's speech again - just one last time to make sure that he didn't come off as maniacal -

Edward's fingers brush over the nape of her neck. _You're worrying too much._

 _I know._

There was no reason to be nervous. With the world firmly under their thumb, with the vampire mythology she'd grown up with completely altered, with actual peace brokered between nations and an entire global population striving toward finalized unity, the was nothing to be nervous about. That didn't shake the anxiety that this news conference needed to be absolute perfection.

Aro stands behind the lectern, shoulders back and chin proud, with Sulpicia just at his elbow and the other two mated pairs on either side, all standing in solidarity. The camera only emphasizes how young they all look - a group of twenty-somethings with a definite regal air to them, as if the world was brought to heel at their whim, which wasn't too far from the truth.

"Today is a day of revelation," begins Aro, mouth stretching into a genial smile. "Although, citizens of the world, we hope you will keep an open mind as to the contributions of vampire-kind toward the general wellness of our global unification…"

* * *

 **A/N: Another outtake request! Just the idea of a vampire news conference for The Big Reveal is enough to send me into fits of giggling.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	20. the outtakes: necessity

**the outtakes**

 **necessity**

* * *

 **Necessity, who is the mother of invention.**

 **\- Plato**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Do you think that's it, then?" he asks, peering over her shoulder at the microscope they've been studying for weeks.

She nods, tapping fingers against the written, re-written, modified, and finalized version of the formula that had drained so much time and energy from their lives, an undertaking so vast that even reaching a stage where they could sit back and contemplate testing was cause for sighs of relief. "It looks stable enough."

 _Stable_ , as in _doesn't appear to be acidic or harmful in anyway, so it could probably be ingested_. She doesn't have to say that, though. After working so long together and after being her mentor - and now her equal partner - she and Carlisle have a short-hand of sorts, a close enough relationship that pontificating isn't all that necessary more often than not.

"Then we'll start testing it immediately."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella listens closely as Carlisle dictates his observations. She adds in her own, fetches him another bottle, and settles in for the wait.

 _All good so far_.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"An unanticipated side effect," Carlisle decides calmly, watching from the other side of the lab as Bella mops up the synthetic formula that she had promptly spilled all over herself after catching a glimpse of the Cullen patriarch as he returned to their shared workspace after a night away.

She still can't tear her eyes away, even as Carlisle continues in debriefing her of all the other reactions he'd had to the formula - just as they'd hoped, their ten-year long production in isolating the properties of blood that was needed to slake vampiric thirst and reproduce them in a laboratory setting resulted in a formula that was much _tastier_ than they could have possibly imagined. For the past week, even though his eyes had begun to darken from bright gold to muddy brown, Carlisle had reported decreased thirst, but no decrease in vampiric ability. She hadn't been thrilled that he'd volunteered to be their test subject, but he wouldn't be talked out of the decision - and it _had_ to be a full-fledged vampire, not a hybrid like herself, that tested the formula.

It was all going great…until this morning.

The eye thing was _really_ weird.

Bella didn't even think there was a word to describe that particular shade of blue. Electric, maybe? Certainly no color was _that_ bright on the human spectrum.

The celebration in their success is somewhat dulled by this _unanticipated side effect_. Further testing was obviously required, and so they tapped the shoulders of their family, monitoring the way golden eyes dulled to an icky, slate-brown shade after a week and then - quite suddenly - changed to a startlingly bright, iridescent hue of whatever shade the eyes had been as a human.

Edward's eyes are bottle-green, flecked with the faintest gold, so much brighter and clearer than her own.

The changes don't seem to be harmful and they are quick to discover that another alteration of diet - switching from synthetic to animal - results in a return of the vampire-golden hue of vegetarians. Bella and Carlisle can only conclude that this is some quirk pertaining to the exact molecular composition that defines blood; they had discovered very early on that animal and human blood had different properties, after all, and had employed those properties with their formula. They'd never imagined that the synthetic blend would do anything other than sustain life - but it was clear that even with as bright as vampire eyes became on a diet of synthetic blood, it would be that much easier to pass as human.

The part of Bella's mind that has dedicated itself to attaining world rule for the Volturi is just itching to tell Aro; another part of her mind was making plans to discretely purchase factories to manufacture the formula on a large scale and figure out a way to enforce its use. She hadn't gone to so many universities or obtained degrees in medicine, chemistry, or molecular biology, to just sit idly on a discovery this big - and it had always been her intention, along with Carlisle, to necessitate this kind of invention.

It had been a very long ten years in this lab - and unanticipated side effects notwithstanding, their victory is immutable.

* * *

 **A/N: Another outtake request!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	21. the outtakes: breathing

**the outtakes**

 **breathing**

* * *

 **Listen-are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?**

 **\- Mary Oliver**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

In another life, he'd been a poet. Not a very good one, mind, but a poet nonetheless, possessed by a tranquility of mind that lent itself well to seeing the beauty in all things. He'd liked Whitman. Still does, although now he can't read _Leaves of Grass_ without a twinge of cynicism that creeps like ever-slow, rolling fog through his psyche. He likes Walt Whitman's poetry, but since his heart stopped, Alistair could not _feel_ the poetry the way he had in his human life. The words are just words - pretty ones, rife with symbolism and allusion, but still simple words that no longer have the ability to move his soul the way they once did.

Vampirism had stolen the heart right from Alistair's chest - and in its wake, had left nothing but a lingering sense of incomplete, forlorn misery. Day in, day out. Creeping grayness, everything in monotone. Depression. He did not trust _himself_ \- he is so capable of unspeakable, unfathomable violence when the thirst wallows in his throat like swallowed shards of glass - let alone any that cross his path. There are the gifted, of course, not to be trusted for they poke fingers into the pink cavity of the mind and play as a child does with mud; but also there are the ungifted, the less restrained of their breed, cruel and callous. Alistair had not crossed a single vampire that he could remotely stand since he had woken to this hell-burning life - with the dubious exception of Carlisle Cullen, who he did not believe could remain _good_ for so long.

And he is right - he knows he is right. Feels it deep in his deadened sinew. The proof is standing across the room, an unimaginable demon dressed as a miracle. Unnatural. The girl is _unnatural_.

Carlisle calls her Bella - fondly, as a father might call a child. Bella, the mate of the eldest son. Bella, the daughter of the damnable, power-craven Volturi King Aro. Bella, the too-powerfully gifted. Bella, the unnatural child, an impossibility of vampirism with a heart beat, with a heat signature, with eyes green as springtime pastures in the English countryside.

Alistair does not hide his loathing, his mistrust. He argues with Carlisle about her - threatens to leave even in the face of this convoluted war brewing to the north of Carlisle's territory.

His old acquaintance weedles him to stay by reminding him of a favor long-owed. It does not endear him to Alistair in the slightest - but even if his is a monster forever roaming this forsaken planet with a dead heart and his own shroud of gloominess, he is a monster who still possesses some iota of honor.

So he stays, but he stays in the _shadows_ , in the attic, in the trees - he stays far away, where he rightfully belongs, sulking in the implausibility slinking right under his nose.

And that is why it takes him so long to realize that his deadened heart had turned over - just the once.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Jane didn't anticipate _liking_ the half-breed she'd been assigned to babysit - and in spite of herself, she _does_ like the girl. This progeny of Master Aro's is the type that batters down carefully constructed walls with all the blasé casualty of the autumn chill stealing leaves from trees - inevitable, as if by rote. The half-breed girl insists on being called by the diminutive of her name, her brow furrowing in irritation when Dimitri insists on using formal titles, and easing when Felix finally compromises. Jane hadn't expected that. She'd thought, of course, that the girl would lord her position over the Volturi guard - not an unreasonable assumption given the way that same girl had practically demanded aid from the Masters, inserting herself into a political regime several times older and more powerful than herself.

Well - perhaps not as powerful. Jane would not admit it even under the threat of torture, but Bella is not to be trifled with. The fact that Jane intentionally stokes the half-breed's ire in targeting her mate is a product only of necessity. Jane was not prone to putting herself into the direct path of danger and Bella was nothing if not _dangerous_. It's incredibly obvious to anyone with eyes that she is more than a formidable opponent; that power, coupled with a significant degree of plain intelligence, and a streak of tenacity that puts Master Caius to shame is nothing short of lethal.

And yet, the little half-breed is _unassuming_.

For Jane, this is unfathomable - nearly as unfathomable as the other thing.

The thing she is _not_ thinking about.

Except, of course, for the times that she _is_ thinking about it - about him.

Had she truly never run across him in her three hundred years of life? The Volturi knew _all_ vampires on the planet if they lived long enough - between summons and their travels, various Volturi guards had encountered most, if not all, vampires on Earth, and Master Aro knew of them via his gift. And yet, Jane did not know of Alistair until he had arrived on the heels of some of the oldest European nomads that tended to roam the British Isles.

 _Alistair_.

Jane isn't stupid, nor is she blind. She knows what he is to her - this strange vampire with deep blond hair curling around his cheekbones and eyes such a dark red they might as well be black, purple-irises pressed in the sockets beneath perpetually furrowed brows, and a distinctly uncomfortable air as he sticks to the edge of the crowd of allies. She can't place what his physical age might have been, though she supposes it is closer to twenty than fifteen, like herself and her twin. He is tall, but not thin; his human life must have seen to some measure of physical labor.

She hates that she thinks about him constantly, always on the edge of her awareness, just like her gift.

She hates more that the mind-reader _knows_. His knowledge might be why it is so easy for her to scratch pain down his spine when she steps into Bella's training. Not that she would admit to that, of course.

It is almost a relief when her brother arrives. Almost. Alec - of course - picks up on the radical change of Jane's attentiveness within minutes of being in her presence. They did not think it was a gift, but rather just an extension of the twin bond they had shared since the womb. For as long as Jane could remember, she and Alec had simply been extremely aware of the other. When Jane had been strapped to the pyre with flames licking at her feet, it had been Alec who had screamed in pain - _her_ pain, which he felt for himself even though he was not suspected of being a thrice-damned witch.

Still, she levels a narrow-eyed look at him when his brows twitch upward and drags him away from the group under the guise of catching him up on the strategy that Master Aro's half-breed granddaughter had seemed to settle on - but her accursed gaze flicks over her shoulder, one lingering look to Alistair's angular profile as he sulks in the nearest shadow, before she forces herself forward. Her lungs feel tighter each steps she takes away.

 _Does he feel it too_?

Jane rather hopes not. Part of her thinks that the whole thing is a fluke -

It's not.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She wears a pitch-black cloak that does little to mask her diminutive stature and wears her ash-blonde hair in a tightly-coiled bun atop her head, which only serves to show off the small, sharp angles of her cheekbones and proudly display the bright rubies in place of her eyes - eyes that glint with malice just as easily as they glimmer with curiosity.

He's been watching her. He can tell the difference. Right now, Jane of the Volturi is curious - about him. Alistair feels a prickle of unease. Even _he_ has heard of her reputation, along with that of her smirking git of a twin. Every vampire to ever cross the Volturi had heard of the witch-twins - none of them had anything good to say.

Alistair edges away, keeping his back to the tree behind him and the quickest escape routes in sight. If he had to, it would be fastest to run right past those foul-smelling beasts calling themselves werewolves-

"You aren't participating in the training," she observes as she stops several feet away from him, tilting her chin back to make up for the disparity in their heights, though doing so does not elevate his confidence in the slightest. She's _gifted_. He has no chance of taking her on -

Something in his mind prickles at the very thought. Absurd.

His lungs expand in false confidence. "I do not care to."

Jane glances at the training going on around them, at the easy violence of the supernatural with an ease that spoke to her comfort with calamity. He isn't surprised; she's a bold little thing and he'd seen what she did the with unnatural girl and her mate the day before, baiting power with the torture of her gaze. Alistair had been perturbed to discover he'd felt a mild concern for this Volturi guard with the impassive face and tiny hands; he'd had to fight against the urge to put himself between her and Bella. He's very much _not_ going to wonder at that reaction.

"Why are you here if you will not train with the rest. Don't you care to win?"

Alistair feels his lips curl away from his teeth in distaste, the only other emotion he is apt to show aside from antipathy. "I owe the great ponce, don't I? Talked an entire village out of burning me to ashes when I was a newborn. Saved me the trouble of attracting attention from your lot."

Jane bristles. "The Volturi are not _evil_."

Alistair stares at the waif blankly.

"Master Aro saved us too, from the witch burnings," she explains after a moment. "We owe him a great deal, our continued existence being just the tip of the iceberg-"

"Unless he instigated them, orchestrated it all just to nab you and your brother," Alistair interrupts, spurred on by an inexplicable sense of fury to hear this intrusive little thing talk about the Volturi with any measure of positivity. He'd heard quite enough about their brand of _mercy_.

"Master Aro wouldn't do that."

Alistair feels himself leaning forward, just the slightest bit, his muscles taut with an unnamed tension. Part of him is surprised that they are sustaining a conversation for so long, that he is willing to entertain this little exercise of thought, that he is bent on _challenging her_. "And yet here you are, enjoying your indentured servitude."

Jane stands straighter. "I can leave any time I want to."

"So why haven't you?"

"Never had a reason to before," she clips sharply, daring him with her tone.

"And now?" he hears himself asking, quite beyond his control and quite unfearful of the threat of glare basking in the gradual narrowing of her round eyes. He's unwittingly testing her, displeasing her. It makes his knuckles bend, fingers sinking into palms, a fissure of awareness on the back of his neck.

He's quite a bit taller than her, isn't he? And she is rather beautiful, a wrathful demon in a pretty package.

He can't fathom why these thoughts are slipping through his brain, but they are and he doesn't seem to be able to control them - or himself.

"I still don't," she bites out, turning on her heel and stomping away from him.

Alistair wants to follow.

He doesn't, though it is a near thing.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Alistair finds himself watching for her, always noting where she is and when she is gone.

When she is away, he has time to wonder at his reaction to her, why she seems to inspire such an oddity of emotions that break through the bleakness of his existence, like sun through storm clouds.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Jane ruminates on their conversation - if it could even be called that.

It doesn't take her long to realize that he's _oblivious_ and that he is the only one who is oblivious. Everyone else seems to know - even Bella teases her for it.

She fights the urge to touch him, her skin itching for his, when he is within her line of sight. Instead, she focuses entirely on her assigned task, fueled in equal parts by envy and ire.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

And then comes the day of the battle and she is perched in a tall evergreen tree beside her brother, staring down at the purposeful arrangement of vampires with a critical eye - and with more than one check to the well-being of the apathetic idiot her soul had seen fit to claim as her own.

"Him?"

Jane closes her eyes for a second. "Shut up, Alec."

"No, seriously. Him? He's probably what drove Hemingway to suicide," Alec muses, swinging his legs to and fro, just like he did when they were children in Salem and climbing the weeping willow lining the edge of their backyard.

"He isn't…just be quiet, Alec," she says, shockingly unfit for a verbal tirade to amuse her twin. She's stressed about this entire ordeal, though she can't imagine why. Honestly, it's not the first time she and Alec have been the lynchpin in a battle plan and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

It must because _he_ is down there and vulnerable.

Alec ignores her, as he is wont to do. "Not even Mistress Didyme would put a smile on his face, so what makes you think that - _ouch!"_

Jane blinks her eyes, releasing her gift from use. "I said shut up! Now isn't the time. We have work to do."

Alec shakes off the loitering pain of her influence, falling back on his familiar obnoxious observation, lips twisted with mirth. "Yes, but it helps that your mate is down there, doesn't it? You're more focused than ever, sister."

Jane narrowly avoids pushing him right off the thick branch they are balanced on and instead hisses, "Wait until you find your mate, you asshole. You'll rue this day."

It's a promise she intends to keep - nobody can hold a grudge like Jane when she really puts her mind to it and for all the grief her twin has been giving her, she is doubly inspired to recall this very moment for as long as it takes for him to stumble across whoever will be ill-fated enough to receive Alec as the second half of their soul.

Alec sneers.

Idle time is scarce after that. The plan for the battle begins without a hitch, going right as they had intended all along with blood luring the newborn army into a pocket that is difficult to defend, leaving them all easy pickings. But then it derails - the flame-haired bitch behind all of this nonsense escapes, and Bella and Edward dart off after them, leaving the allied vampires and werewolves open to Alec's gift and susceptible to her own. Dimitri and Felix cover each other's backs, blocking newborns from giving chase to Master Aro's heir, and twins are quick to follow suit. They are Volturi guards; it is vital that they are flexible in battle, and it is with little fanfare that they drop from their perch and slip right into the heat of the fray.

She keeps one eye on Alistair the entire time she and Alec tear newborns right in half -

Alistair is a good fighter - surprisingly so, actually - but he has left his back open to attack and two newborns are behind him in the blink of an eye, locking on an easier target.

Jane doesn't even think.

For the first time in her life, she turns away from Alec and toward someone else - toward someone more important than her own flesh and blood. She unleashes the full force of her gift onto the two newborns that would _dare_ target her mate, volleying over the crush of battling bodies until she can rip the head right off of one, and then two, flinging limbs away from torsos with a single-minded intensity and a growl on her lips. Then she turns, gift still active while she narrows her gaze onto the vampire Alistair is fighting head-to-head; she brings the newborn to its knees, screeching and clutching at its head, while Alistair wastes no time with the opportunity that he has been given.

Three threats to him down, and Alistair turns to her with eyes a fraction wider -

And even in the midst of battle, she knows in an instant that he's finally _gotten_ it.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Alistair finds her when the dust settles - he is compelled both by the inkling of a bond that he feels and by a perplexing interest in seeking absolution for his previous behavior. He's been a right bastard, insulting her sire to her face and belittling her occupation, but she'd still saved him.

He isn't the type to inspire loyalty in others, so there is only one reasonable explanation, only one possible thing he has been unwilling to entertain -

But even Alistair is not too jaded to acknowledge the mate that has been flitting and fluttering around him.

He finds her near the slow-rushing river cutting through Carlisle's territory. Jane stands with her back toward him, shoulders rigid as she cocks her ear to his approach, which he does not bother to hide. Her twin is absent, probably on purpose.

Alistair steps beside her, arm brushing against hers, a zing of electricity flashing over his skin. Inhale. Exhale. He musters his courage, then pivots, bowing his head to catch her eyes, even as he reaches up to brush his knuckle over the tender slope of her lips.

"I have been foolish," he says plainly.

"Are the willfully blind truly foolish?" she questions waspishly.

He deserves that, he supposes.

Alistair breathes deeply, trailing the back of his hand down her chin until he can cup the underside of her jaw, tilting her face upward until she must meet his gaze. He hopes his expression is as earnest as he feels, but he is not practiced in expressing anything except for a stated misanthropy and senses that he falls short, though she does soften minutely in response to whatever it is that _does_ show in his countenance.

"Trust is not something that I have come by easily in this life. I was very young and naïve once, and burned both as a human and as a vampire by others who I thought I was able to trust," he murmurs, drawing her closer to his body, a natural instinct that he has no desire to curb. "I do not think that will change, and yet I have found that I trust no single soul except for yours, if you would have me."

Jane's answering kiss is intoxicating.

* * *

 **A/N: Not going to lie, I had** _ **fun**_ **with this outtake request. Crack-ships treated seriously are** _ **the best**_ **! That said, I took considerable artistic license with their characters, or at least their character backgrounds.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	22. the outtakes: mastery

***trigger warning for this chapter, because mele has a seriously effed up backstory. it's only a few lines, but read at your own caution.***

* * *

 **the outtakes**

 **mastery**

* * *

 **Man has demonstrated that he is master of everything except his own nature.**

 **\- Henry Miller**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The shaman in her village had said something to her when she was very little, eyes clouded and milky, wizened hands folding over her thin arms as the smoke in the hut swirled dark and spicy around them. The beads around his neck, hanging from the stretch of his ear lobes and the bones pierced through his dark flesh, shook as he spoke, a delicate tingling of sound that still haunted her.

"Mele," he'd croaked, head lolling loosely about his shoulders, white hair a vivid contrast to his skin. "It is you who will find the mastery of the world."

The mastery of the _world_. Even then, she'd known that the words were spoken with a great weight - known that there was a distinction in the delivery, known that the shaman had been flirting with the other side of the veil and disparaging time in his quest to have this vision. Of course she'd known. _She_ was to be the next shaman, after all, and even though she had not inhaled the herbs to lower the natural protections all living beings had from the _other side_ , she could feel the odd air in the hut, the cool brush along the back of her neck, the quiver of the hands on her shoulders.

But Mele thought that she would have time - all young children thought the world was full of time to grow, to live.

 _He_ came the same day, slashing through the village in the night.

( _"You are different," says he, crouching down in front of her, his ghostly pale skin gleaming in the moonlight. She's never seen skin so light, not even touched by the golden tint of sun. His eyes are red like the blood that he has spilled heedlessly. "You smell delicious. I think I'll keep you - I've always wanted one of your kind for my own, you know."_

 _And Mele, small and scared and crying jaggedly, does not_ know _. One of her kind?_

 _She won't understand until much, much later that_ her kind _did not mean human - it meant the color of her skin._ )

 _He_ took her away, stole her in the night from the grasp of dead hands. The last thing she sees are the unblinking, flat eyes of the shaman and the beads around his neck that should have one day adorned her own.

( _She doesn't think his name. She won't even speak it - not unless she is hissing, spitting, screaming. EzraEzraEzra. Ezra, who makes her his pet. Ezra, who calls himself her master. Ezra, who she loathes with blind fury and will for as long as air fills her lungs._ )

 _He_ does not stop taking.

Her innocence.

( _"They didn't have to die," he proclaims, curling lips at her. "But they did because you tried to fight me. You're responsible. You won't try to fight again, will you?"_ )

Her body.

( _"You are so exotic in everything," he groans, the weight of him over her, cold like ice and rending her flesh -_

 _He laughs when she screams. He is entertained when she claws at the ground, too weak to fight him off because she is human and only newly a woman - but this is not the first time and it will not be the last. This new act is just an extension of all the others, but now it is not his hands that violate her -_

 _"Exotic in all things, except for_ this _," he grunts, dragging her closer. "All women are the same in this way. It's best you learn this, now."_ )

Her free will.

( _"Do you understand?"_

 _"Yes," she answers, flinching away as he suddenly stalks closer, the pupils of his eyes dilating wide and deep and dark-_

 _"I did not hear you right, pet. Yes,_ what _?" he coaches._

 _Mele's mind slips from her grasp, her thoughts blurring together. "Yes, Master," she slurs, influenced by compulsion of his gift._ )

And eventually her life.

( _"It will only burn for a while, and then we can be together forever._ ")

Mele has found that forever is a very, very long time - and _he_ found that he had greatly underestimated how long his forever would last. Her first act when she wakes from the burning is to close her eyes to protect herself from his influence and then turn her new indestructible rage onto him, ripping him to pieces and relishing in burning his flesh in the place where once stood her village.

And as she stands where the bones of the shaman still remain, she remembers what he said when she was a little girl - before she was torn and ruined and eviscerated from the inside out by a monster who had damned her to the same blood-drunken fate.

 _It is Mele who will find the mastery of the world._

But no - that could not be right. Not anymore.

Mele had a Master - once and never again.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The first time the vampire finds her, Mele declines her offer with prejudice. She knows what the Volturi are - she knows who the female is mated to and she has _no_ desire to enslave herself. Not again and not by her own free will.

Sulpicia does not take _no_ for an answer and Mele bristles at this, because _no_ means _no_ and Mele is not prone to declining nicely _twice_. But when Sulpicia returns, it is with an agreement that Mele will not be beholden to the Volturi - she will be free to come and go and do as she pleases so long as she helps the Sulpicia stave the sanity from her mate.

"He could change the _world_ ," Sulpicia says pleadingly, hands clasped together. "He could, but only if this happens. Only if his attention is drawn elsewhere - only if he had an heir."

And Mele cannot help but think of the shaman, long dead save for his words that slip through the stream of her conscious. She doubts a man swayed by the grip of insanity - a man who is slaved to control and violence and power - would ever be master of the entire world, but now her curiosity is peaked.

Sulpicia's eyes are bright, honest. "Either way, you shall have no Master, this I swear."

Mele wants to refuse, but some dormant part of her - the thing that died when her heart stopped, her ability to commune with the veil as shamans before her had done - stirs weakly and she finds herself agreeing.

She will try this _once_ and if it does not work as it should, then she will take her leave.

( _She will end them all if there is even a hint of the demons that reside in the immortal children.)_

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The first hybrid is not gifted in spite of Mele's best efforts to transmute the Aro's gift to his progeny - and neither is the second. But she can sense it lurking in the blood and the faint echo of shamanism coating her soul _knows_ that patience will make all the difference.

They have nothing but time. She will watch and wait and know these children from afar.

She watches in the shadows as the third hybrid grows - slower than the first two, closer to the rate of humans. She shakes her head each time she leaves.

 _Not this one_. _The next one_.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The night that Isabella is born, Mele again hears the shaman's words whisper quietly in the back of her mind.

 _It is you who will find the mastery of the world_.

Mastery, it seems, is in the birthright of this tiny, wiggling infant. Even this small, Mele can sense that _Isabella_ is different from those who she is descended from - perhaps in the same way that the shaman knew Mele was different from the rest of the children in the village.

Destined for something greater.

A child worth protecting.

Isabella is a precocious slip of a girl, in equal turns starkly intelligent and pragmatically insightful. She carries the spirit of a natural born leader and she is so wise - Isabella learns to hide her gift from her parents and from the psychologists that examine her. She learns to protect herself. To play at being normal. To assimilate. But to never lose the quality that Mele had identified upon first sight.

She does not leave Isabella - and if she does, it is not for long, not the way she would occasionally check up on the lives of the other hybrids. _This child_ is special and the three vampires who know of her existence know it.

She would not fail this girl - not the way that Mele was failed.

Isabella grows from girl to young woman and while it is obvious that others feel the same urge to protect her, Mele will not let that stand as if _protection_ would ever be enough. Isabella is destined for greatness, just as Mele had once been. She will not allow there to be an opportunity for Isabella's greatness to be cut down - not like hers had been taken, stolen right along with the heat of her heart pumping blood through her body.

 _(She relishes in killing those men in Isabella's name. She has not felt a kill so keenly since the death of her own sire and it is because she sees so much of herself in the girl - as well she should, considering_ how much of Mele's power _had been incorporated into the bloodline over the generations._

 _It is almost like Isabella is her own child._ )

Mele trains Isabella herself. The girl will be a protection unto herself. She will accept nothing less than perfection because it is _vital_ that Isabella never be as vulnerable as Mele had been at that age -

She is hard on Isabella because the girl must be strength defined - must be too strong to enslave and too fortified to be weak enough to do the enslaving.

Isabella understands. She rises to the challenge, and then rises higher.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _Mele would find the mastery of the world_.

Yes. She had done that, in fact. She had found the child that would Master the world - flawlessly, humanely, discreetly. The child that would epitomize the mastery of the _world_ and everything in it. The check and balance to a system that desperately needed it with a sense of judicious morals that was rivaled by none.

She would never have a Master again. No, that could never happen. Mele would never be slave to a single person ever again -

Instead, she would be loyal by her own free will.

* * *

 **A/N: Outtake request! For the record, Mele is not an easy character to write from any angle you tackle her. I will reiterate, however, that Mele is** _ **technically**_ **a canon character - but I took lots of artistic license with her characterization. And this was supposed to be shorter, but then I figured I might as well try and do the character justice. I know some of you** _ **really**_ **didn't like Mele and even though I mostly used her for a plot device, I didn't just want to leave it like that. People are complicated.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	23. the outtakes: growing

**the outtakes**

 **growing**

* * *

 **Everything grows rounder and wider and weirder and I sit here in the middle of it all and wonder who in the world you will turn out to be.**

 **\- Carrie Fisher**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella is _sick_.

"Oh, God, this is awful," she groans. The only reason she isn't on the floor at the moment is because the entirety of her weight is supported by Edward's enduring presence at her back and the convenient shape of the toilet at her front. If she weren't feeling so crummy, she might be embarrassed that he's witnessing this first-hand - but as it is, she _does_ feel just wretched with nausea and vertigo and a chill on her skin-

Edward brushes hair off her forehead, a kiss to her temple quickly following. He makes a rather good show of masking the bright flare of anxiety rolling off him in waves.

 _Something you ate_?

Her glare is half-hearted. "I don't think some rancid chicken is going to cause this," she clips darkly, hunching over again when a strange cramp in her lower stomach comes again. She braces herself for the next heave, one hand falling to her stomach -

Bella gasps.

And then she moans. " _Oh_ , this isn't _fair_!"

"Bella?"

"I thought everyone was just exaggerating about morning sickness!" she cries in dismay.

Edward is quiet for a moment before he chokes out a strangled, " _What_."

With some effort, Bella straightens her spine and guides his hand to her lower abdomen - right where there is evidence of a new hardness to her skin, along with the faintest shadow of roundness that, had she been human, might have been attributed to bloating. But she's not human and she doesn't _get sick_ and her body doesn't just _change_ -

There is only one possible explanation.

Unfortunately, her elation at this discovery is marred by the resurgence of the absolute hell that is morning sickness.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

In the mirror, she twists and turns, completely naked and eying herself critically.

Bella tilts her head, smoothing her hand from the bottom of her ribs to just above her pubic bone. She has a bump, a swell of flesh between her hips, that had not been there the day before. A swell that grows more pronounced each day.

She smiles.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Love, you have to eat something."

Bella wrinkles her nose, shaking her head as she stands in the ravine below where she has just chased off yet another herd of deer. "They don't smell right," she says, nearly a whine, her hands falling over the smooth swell of her stomach where _their child_ rested so peacefully. For now, at least. Bella needs to _hunt_ \- her eyes are nearly pitch black - but as has been the case for the last few days, her appetite, her thirst, wasn't stoked by any of her normal favorites. The bottled blood formula wasn't working, either.

As of this moment, he is no longer concerned - now he is edging closer and closer to outright panic. Although his mate may be the true doctor between the two of them, Edward is no slouch. He's been to medical school a few times and he _knows_ just how vital it is that a mother maintain a proper diet during a pregnancy. That Bella required blood was not at all surprising - it was a point of fact that even the human mothers of hybrids drank their fill - but what _was_ surprising was that more and more it didn't seem that Bella would be able to drink anything at all.

He doesn't have words to express how conflicted he's been since they found out. Joyous because he would be a father. Overly-protective because he knows how dangerous hybrid pregnancy has been. Happy. Overwhelmed. Obsessive. He's been on an emotional haywire right along with Bella's violent, unpredictable mood swings - and this new issue in feeding his mate and his children is doing nothing to keep the reins on his inner monster.

Edward leaps down the steep incline, scattering late autumnal debris beneath the soles of his feet. He presses his chest against her back, reaching around to cover her hands with his, waiting for that faint flicker in the back of his mind that tells him she has tapped into his thoughts.

 _Show me what the problem is_ , he requests as calmly as possible - quite the feat, considering he's halfway to either carting her over to Carlisle or finding a human that smelt appealing to her, neither of which are options Bella will tolerate.

Her mind brushes against his, pushing forward a series of half-formed thoughts and impressions of emotions, all of them centralized around the _wrongness_ of all the options they have tried so far. Their quarry not smelling right is the simplest way she can translate the strange instinct that he has found to be related to all of her cravings - some of which he considers it best to _not_ recall at the moment.

The unconscious clench of his jaw relaxes minutely. It's not so much that she _can't_ drink or that she _won't_ hunt - it's just that she has this esoteric craving that she can't quite put her finger on and it's getting in the way of even considering another source of sustenance.

Edward's fingers lace through Bella's, = head dipping down to ghost his nose over the gracile line of her jaw, the singular thud of her heartbeat echoed by the hummingbird-quickness of their child's.

"How do you feel about cougar? Lynx, maybe?" he mutters into her skin, an entire list of nearby carnivores piling up in the back of his mind. He's almost certain that this is the issue - Bella has made a habit of hunting herbivores and it seems that what _she really_ needs, what the baby is demanding, is a prey that is not so passive. Of course, this is an entirely new set of issues in regard to her safety, but he's more than happy to do the hunting for her. He'd prefer it, actually. He doesn't care how far he has to run - if he needs to, he'll break into a nearby zoo.

 _He'll do anything_.

Bella's head twists around to stare up at him with amusement and he is again arrested by the exquisite structure of her bones, the curve of her lips twisting into a wry smile as she reads him more thoroughly than anyone in his entire life. God save him and forgive him for this blasphemy, but it is Bella who he worships - not the Lord that had long forgotten him.

She is so beautiful to him - always - but _now_ , there is a stated warmth to her beauty. He is often driven to distraction by the new shape of her body, of the wonders she is introducing him to -

"Lynx actually sounds palatable," she says softly.

The vise loosens around his chest.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

He kneels before her, hands placed to either side of the protrusion of her belly button, palms battered by dual cadences of tiny hands and feet thrumming against the strong wall of Bella's stomach.

Twins.

Edward tilts his head forward, forehead pressed to skin as Bella's hands comb through his hair.

He can hear them already - and beyond their contentedness, he wonders what they will be. There is no medical technology that is strong enough to peer through the vampiric membrane to deliver an ultrasound, so they are ignorant of their children's sex and it is impossible for the children to know what they are.

He supposes it doesn't matter. So long as all three pieces of his heart are beating at the end of this ordeal, he'll be happy.

It is enough - for now - to wallow in the shimmering impressions of his family's minds.

* * *

 **A/N: An outtake request! Ended up doing from both perspectives because I seriously couldn't make up my mind as to which was better.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	24. the outtakes: news

**the outtakes**

 **news**

* * *

 **Nobody likes the man who brings bad news.**

 **\- Sophocles**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"You've done _what_?" Marcus thunders, springing from the gold-gilt of the ornate chair with a prowl of agitated steps, his expression nothing short of absolutely _horrified_ as he turns to Aro.

"Who cares for what he's done - I want to know why he's telling us now," Caius says scathingly, remaining in his seat with a narrow-eyed gaze directed toward the third chair remaining in the small stone-walled conference room hidden behind the large chamber where the rest of the guard are gathered. "Tell me, Aro, is this news somehow germane to where you've been for the past few weeks?"

Aro inclines his chin, hiding his delight at the way this seems to be folding out. He couldn't have planned it better if he'd actually been directing the actions of his brother-kings. _How entertaining_. "You've always been so astute, Caius."

"And you've always been far too sly, Aro."

"The statute - our law - broken…" Marcus mutters, pushing hands through the inky length of his hair. He's always been so _sensitive_. Aro isn't quite sure how his sister tolerates it, but then again, Didyme is equally as thin-skinned.

"Hardly. It isn't as if any _humans_ know about our existence," Aro scoffs lightly, shifting to rest his chin on the flat of his palm.

"How can that be true? Surely, if this child is part vampire, then it must also be part human. How could the human who birthed it remain ignorant?" Marcus demands sedately. Then, after a moment, he shakes his head, realization dawning as he seems to wilt on himself; there is, after all, only one conclusion that can be drawn. His face twists in barely-concealed disgust. Not surprising, considering how soft Marcus has always been on humans. " _Oh_."

"How savage of you, Aro," Caius remarks lightly.

"Collateral damage was, of course, anticipated," Aro agrees.

They both ignore the indignant sound Marcus makes on the other side of the room. Three thousand years is an ample amount of time to learn the responses of one's companions and Marcus has always been very predictable - Caius too, for that matter, but _he_ could at least see beyond his emotions. If he is honest, Aro isn't quite sure that Caius has emotions, but that is for Athenodora to contend with, not him.

"Yes, yes. But for all this information, you have yet to tell us _why_ we are learning of this _now_. I assume that you are withholding something of significance."

 _Always cutting to the core of the issue_ , Aro thinks with some amount of fondness. He leans forward, lips spreading into a delighted smile. "She is gifted. Quite gifted, actually."

"Is she?" Caius muses flatly.

Aro nods. "To be frank, it appears that she has multiple gifts - my own seems to be the most dominant."

Marcus inhales sharply. "How is that possible? There are gifted humans, but you speak as if this girl is in full control-"

"My Isabella is the epitome of control," Aro boasts with a broad grin. He then goes on to explain - in explicit detail - how hybrids have been created, how his lineage had reached a fourth generation, and how Isabella had managed to mate herself to a strong coven. All the while he can't help but to reflect that she is indeed the most wonderful thing Aro has come across in his long, long life. So much like him, but also so much _not_ like him - her mind is so similarly structured to his own, a constant echo of philosophy floating in the background and paired with an astounding level of thoughtfulness that is _all her own_. It certainly didn't come from _him_. Isabella cared about people; Aro cared about what people could give him. "She is magnificent," he finishes brightly.

"Stay your self-congratulations, Aro, or I shall do it for you," Caius intones caustically, evidently not as entertained by the notion of hybrids as Aro had been. Without reading his thoughts, Aro would suspect that Caius is mostly perturbed by the fact that _he_ hadn't thought to copulate with humans first.

"Well, now that you've told us of this…interesting development, what are we to do? You must have a plan. You always have a plan," says Marcus, a touch beseeching.

Aro relaxes into his chair, thinking of the tentative plans that had ghosted through his mind while in his precious granddaughter's presence. The success of her strong constitution and obvious lack of derangement - not that he'd ever had any doubts - was akin to the flick of a match in a dark room.

Did he have a plan? Oh, yes. For the first time in a very long time, Aro is seeing _possibilities_.

A new world.

* * *

 **A/N: Another outtake request!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	25. the outtakes: games

**the outtakes**

 **games**

* * *

 **The game of life has two participants: spectators and players. Pick one.**

 **-Unknown**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Admittedly, Bella had had better ideas before - but how was she to know that playing games with the Volturi Kings would be just as much as a metaphorical bloodbath as playing games with the Cullens? In particular, it seems that board games are just _not_ designed for vampires.

Her first clue should have been the way Marcus blanched - as much as a vampire could - at her suggestion for familial bonding a few weeks after she'd been in Volterra. Her second clue should have been the way Edward very decisively decided to bow out, choosing instead to keep Marcus and the Volturi Queens company as Aro, Caius, and Bella gathered around _Monopoly_.

She fights tooth and nail to keep her side of the board - mostly playing to her strengths and negotiating, but ultimately usurping Boardwalk right out from under Aro's nose, only to lose it on the next turn to Caius, who had been _sneaky_. Tempers flare. It's much worse playing _Risk_ , of course, as Caius is nearly as impossible to play against as Jasper; unsurprisingly, Bella loses her land in Asia and then Aro and Caius spend an entire hour arguing over the finer points of the rules until Caius _finally_ just flips the board in response to Aro's smug declaration that he'd won.

 _Clue_ also goes about as well as can be imagined, and by that time, Bella is at a loss - caught between being entertained at the positively immature behavior of two very old vampires, and horrified that she keeps _losing_. It doesn't help that the Volturi Queens and Marcus are not even bothering to conceal their amusement at the proceedings. Edward, for his part, edges closer each time any of the three players express any amount of aggression.

She sighs when _Battleship_ swiftly resolves in an extremely loud outburst from Caius when Aro _does_ sink his battleship.

Giving up on board games, she then suggests card games and after convincing Edward and Marcus to join - and after she and Aro don silken gloves to prevent transference - _and_ after Bella seals Edward's telepathy off by pushing her shield around the rest of the room - they start in on a game of _Blackjack_.

Didyme, youthful and downright _chipper_ , is the dealer and it all seems to be going well. That is until Bella wins a _third_ impossible round, beating the dealer and the other players when it just shouldn't have been possible.

Caius throws down his hand, turning to glare at her accusingly. "Are you counting cards?" he demands.

"Um…no?" Bella hedges, trying not to appear too guilty. She _had_ been counting cards, but that was the way Charlie taught her to play and at this point, it's not as if she has any measure of control over it. She can't help but to count the cards.

Groans travel around the table, cards shuffling as they are pushed onto glossy wood in frustration. Didyme hides her giggle behind her hand, but in the background Athenodora and Sulpicia don't bother to hide their bemusement.

"You _are_ counting cards!" Marcus exclaims. "You can't do that!"

"And why not?" Bella returns indignantly.

"It's cheating! We're not supposed to be cheating!"

"Are you telling me I'm the _only_ one that was counting cards? I find that hard to believe," she says hotly.

Caius sneers when Aro's lips twitch and he confesses that he had also been keeping the count. "Hades take me, but it's _genetic_ ," says Caius irately.

"You cheat at everything else!" Marcus declares in exasperation. "You're all cheaters!"

Bella leans around Edward, who has resigned himself to silent chuckles at their expense, to smile disarmingly at her uncle. "Is that what this is all about? I could teach you, if you want," she offers with a grin.

"That's not the _point!_ " Marcus cries in consternation but by that point, laughter has dissolved the room from everyone except for Marcus and Caius and it's hard to hear his muttering about playing _fair_.

Bella snorts.

She really should have known not to play games with vampires - it never ended the way it ought to.

* * *

 **A/N: Outtake request - I did my best to be funny! It's not exactly my strength. Oh, I'm full of one-liners and dick jokes and if you're talking to me in person, I'll probably mow you down with my sarcasm - but it just isn't something I can translate into writing. Go figure.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	26. the outtakes: instinct

**the outtakes**

 **instinct**

* * *

 **Trust your instinct to the end, though you can render no reason.**

 **\- Ralph Waldo Emerson**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Theo bangs into the third floor condo, door slamming shut behind him, the soles of his shoes squeaking against hardwood floors, his heart racing and thundering in panic. He's _panicking_. He's horrified. He can't even think straight.

"Shit, shit, _shit_!" he curses as he high-tails it to his room as fast as his legs will carry him, limbs trembling in the force of his emotion and he wants nothing more than to just shut down - just _forget_ \- oh, but that's impossible, isn't it? After what he'd done, he deserves to stew in this tightness in his throat, in the threat of bile dancing on the back of his tongue, in the hammering of adrenaline coating his veins -

"Language, Theodore!"

Theo collapses on his bed, head in his hands after shutting the door of his room - snapping it shut, really, all the better to cut off the sound of his mother's voice. He spares half a thought to his parent's schedules. It's a Wednesday, so his father would be in the studio, and his mother is clearly in her home office. Good. That's good. At least someone would have to touch him to figure out what's wrong - they'd already know if his father was home. Burdens of mind reading and all that. No privacy.

Christ, but the very thing Theo _needs_ is privacy right now. Because he'd - he'd -

"Teddy?"

His sister's voice breaks his thoughts clean in two. Ellie has slipped into his room, quiet as the wings of a moth, and is staring at him with wide eyes, the same bright verdant that reflects back at him in the mirror - only Ellie's aren't awash with the guilt and shame he knows is gleaming in his. Because Ellie hadn't just -

"I fucked up…" he moans quietly, agonized, lungs shuttering feebly. He's lightheaded, both from the thin air he's breathing in too quickly to appreciate, and from the heady flush of raw energy coalescing in the lightning-fast conductors of his spine. It makes him _sick_.

He's going to be _sick_.

"Wait, wait," says Ellie, hushed as she rushes forward to crouch down in front of him, brows furrowed in concern. Her features are more delicate than his, the perfect feminine counterpart to his masculinity of his physicality even though they are twins - so identical, even while being fraternal. This is most apparent when the bird-fine bones of her fingers dart into his peripheral vision, a good third smaller in size than his own -

"No, don't touch me!" he yelps, flinching backward. He does something that he's seen his mother do countless times before and tugs his sweater over his hands, encasing his skin in fabric to protect the people around him from the intrusion of his gift - and now from the fatality of it.

"Honestly, you're not going to hurt _me_ ," Ellie chides, blithely pushing his sleeve back before he can so much as protest - but then, he and Ellie had been doing this since before they even knew what _this_ was and it comes as naturally to them, to their twin bond, as breathing.

And she's right. Theo could probably hurt everyone else in the world _except_ for Ellie - her gift is such a counter to his that it seems impossible she would ever have too little energy to meet the uncaged _thing_ inside of him -

Not like Trevor -

 _Show me_ , Ellie demands, pushing her thoughts forward - always forward because that's the only way she operates. Not like him. He's _a leech_ \- he'd just proven today that nobody was safe around him, not even his closest friend, not even when he was well fed and well rested - no, because Theo is chained by this voracious shadow inside of him that has been clamoring _to feedfeedfeed_ for months now and Trevor had been such an easy target -

 _Slow down, Teddy._

He does. Or he tries to. Theo fishes his memories of the afternoon from the banks of his mind, easily recalling them and kind of… _shoving_ them toward Ellie. That's not the way his gift works, except for with her. Otherwise, he's just limited to _taking_ and she's just limited to _giving_ and they would be unbalanced -

Ellie receives the events that have so traumatized him easily -

"Oh, my God. _Teddy_." Ellie gasps, her hand falling to the side of his as she stares up at him in shock, dark copper hair falling across her forehead as she seems to struggle for comprehension.

He wilts, closing his eyes in the grief and guilt he has earned with his thoughtlessness. "I know - _I know_."

"Mom!"

At that, Theo straightens, staring at his twin incredulously. "Ellie! What are you _doing_?"

Ellie stands, arms crossed over her chest. "Mom can help - Mom can always help," she says firmly, faithful in her conviction.

And - _yeah_. True enough. Their mother is some kind of trailblazing pioneer of brilliance on a good day and something that is _better off not messed with_ on a bad day. They've had the dubious pleasure of seeing both sides of their mother while they were growing up. Isabella Masen was one hell of a legacy to live up to - he'd seen her cut down a man twice her size with a single press of her pinky finger, only to turn around and coddle he and his sister in the next breath. She's even berated their grandfather, King Aro, heedless to the danger of contradicting him.

Theo didn't think his mother feared _anything_. His father either, for that matter. And that's what makes this so much worse - he doesn't want her to know what he's done because _she_ has never lost control bad enough to really hurt someone -

Not like Theo.

 _Fuck_.

His mother enters the room, hands empty save for pen stains on her skin that betray the brainstorm and inventions that lurked in her office. She's frowning slightly, obviously disturbed by the tone of outright frantic urgency that had been in Ellie's voice when she called for help. "Just what exactly is going on in here? Teddy, why did you come home - _Oh_." His mother stops, taking in the scene of angst-riddled teens, and then nods to herself, holding open the bedroom door. "Oh, I see. Ellie, go to your room."

"But Mom -"

"Now, Elisabet," says their mother, tone brooking no argument.

Ellie shuffles out of the room, casting one last worried frown over her shoulder before the door closes.

"Teddy."

The softness of his mother's voice is all that he needs to break - as if he had a prayer of hiding anything from her in the first place. The story comes tumbling out of him in hurried fits and starts, about how he and Trevor had just been doing homework and casually flirting and then Trevor had surprised him - had kissed him - and Theo had - he'd - the shadow had unleashed itself because Theo had been wholly unprepared, completely taken off guard - he hadn't been _in control_ -

"Mom, I _fucked up_ ," he says, voice breaking, his eyes burning with a smattering of shameful tears gathering behind his lids. He bites his lips to cut off the shaky cry that threatens to leave his throat. "Jesus, I think I - did I kill him?"

Nurturing, familiar, soothing fingers card through the thickness of his hair. A gentle comfort. Forgiveness, too. "I don't know, sweetheart. Here, show me…" Theo tries not to flinch when he feels his mother ghost through his mind, glimpsing his memories of the afternoon with zero judgment. "Ah. Well, I can't be sure just from your memory, but it _seems_ like your friend should be fine. Why don't I call your Aunt Alice and have her check up on the situation?"

He hadn't even thought of that. It seems so obvious.

"That would be - yeah. Good."

He listens as his mother dials up the resident psychic of the family. Not once does she stop carding her fingers through his hair and Theo wallows in this simple comfort because for as long as he can remember, whenever he was feeling down - something that happened all too often - it was his mother's habit to repeat the same motion until he felt better. Theo closes his eyes and counts the times his hair is pushed away from his forehead.

Thirty-three times before Aunt Alice's voice chirps on the other end of the line. Thirty-four times until Theo is shuddering in relief. And even though he has heard the news just fine, his mother still relays the message.

"Alice says your friend is okay. Teddy, you didn't hurt him."

 _Thank God._

"I'm so sorry about this," she says after a moment, sitting beside him on the navy comforter messily covering his bed. The apology - for Theo - seems to come out of left field. And then his mother surprises him again. "You know, when I was around your age, I had the same concerns."

"You? I don't buy it."

Her lips twitch in a sad smile, the darker green of her eyes dimming. "I know more about this than you think. Have I ever told you about a vampire named Victoria?"

It turns out his mother isn't half as perfect as he always thought she was - and that makes what he'd _almost_ done seem all that much easier to handle.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(Theo isn't as alone as he would like to think, though. The burden of his power is shared not only with his mother, but with the mate that has stayed away to give Theo time to grow up. And if there is some part of him that aches in the dead of night, heart dead-certain that it is missing something - some one - then there is merit to that because it is true.

Theo isn't alone in this emptiness.

The vampire whose dead heart he has claimed is having trouble staying away. It's been a very long thirteen years since they saw each other last, although only one carries the albatross of remembering their single fated meeting.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Ellie is - _understandably_ \- a bit freaked out.

After what happened with Teddy, she become on guard for the same thing happening to her. It's harder to control when she's emotional and Elisabet is _admittedly_ quite emotional. Sue her, but she's a teenage girl and every day it dawns on her how _young_ her parents are and there's the very distinct possibility that she and Teddy are going to out-age them and they already have to lie to the rest of the world that her parents are really just older cousins and now there's _this_ -

Teddy had lost control. He'd nearly….

And they are so alike in so many ways, except that if Ellie ever lost control, she wouldn't be _draining_ someone. No, she'd be _flooding_ them and even if she's not a scientist, it isn't hard to imagine that overloading someone with energy would be way, way more violent than sucking the energy right out of them -

She can't sleep.

But the benefit of having a full-fledged vampire as a father means that he isn't sleeping, either. She finds him sat at the piano in the foyer, gently pressing on ivory keys that she can play just as well, and she sniffles as she lingers hesitantly at the edge of the room.

"Daddy…" she whispers.

Her father turns on the seat, golden eyes gentle as he takes in her plight - evidenced by the pallid tone of her complexion and by the thoughts roving freely through her mind, unencumbered by the strange shield that is sometimes there and sometimes not.

In short order, she is folded into her father's arms as he hums a short melody, a lullaby from her childhood when she was still afraid of monsters under the bed rather than _being_ a monster.

"Sweetheart, I know you're scared of hurting someone, but you can't let that fear control you," he says after a while. "You and your brother are both gifted - and if you're anything like your mother, which I suspect you are, you will not let this cage you. You'll have to learn how to use this gift sooner or later."

"Sooner would be better, Ellie," says another from behind.

"Mom?"

Her mother sighs, perching on the corner of a overstuffed chair. "We really should have started the two of you on this training much earlier, but we thought we had time."

"And I wanted to protect them," her father adds, lips pinched together.

"Well, you are incredibly stubborn," her mother says with a faint smile.

"How can you be so caviler? You don't know what it's like!" Ellie exclaims shrilly, throwing her hands in the air with wide eyes moist with tears.

"Contrary to what you might think, we both have a bit of experience in this…It's actually how we met."

That throws Ellie for a loop and her hands fall to her sides when her father smiles gently, the same lop-sided tilt that Theo has but that has missed Ellie entirely. Her smile is even, just like her mother's, and paired with deep dimples.

"That's right," her father confirms. "Your mother knocked me right off my feet. Literally."

"Are you serious?"

Her mother's brows arch. "Ellie, there is so much you don't know - but as you've inherited this gift from me, you should rest assured that I've never seriously harmed anyone with this side of it... If you want a comparison, you might want to talk to Cousin Kate. Edward, why don't you tell her?"

Her father sits back down on the piano bench and Ellie takes her mother's newly-vacated seat. She watches as her mother exits the room, probably to go back to sleep or to check on Theo or _something_ , and then she turns her avid attention toward her father, ready to latch onto _anything_ that will make the anxiety keeping her awake easier to deal with.

"This is a story of how I met your mother…"

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(It's weird to grow up _knowing_ that your parents are icons, that they are so much older than they look, that one of them is constantly working on some plan to revolutionize the entire world for the better -

But sometimes - sometimes - Elisabet learns something about her parents that she hadn't known before.

 _Never deny your instincts_ , says her father solemnly. _Take it from someone who knows how pointless it is to even try._

She's not like the rest of her family. In many ways, Elisabet is in the dark because she can't read minds, no, she can only push her thoughts, her energy, forward and hope that she'll get a response back. It's like tossing wishes into the starry aether and sustaining herself on hope and she doesn't think anyone really _gets it_. Some days, she feels so _dissociated_ with the rest of her immediate family - but then that bleakness dawns and she abruptly realizes that she's lucky.

She gets to have her own mind. She doesn't have to worry about some shadowy thing that her mother and brother keep locked up. She doesn't have to share her innermost thoughts with _anyone_ , not unless she wants to. She has privacy.

And then that epiphany teeters in response to a new revelation and Elisabet is again walking a tight-rope - torn between inadequacy and gratefulness, straddling some line of God-given solitude and the genuine fear that she was a ticking time-bomb, ready to _touch_ and take out everything in her path.

She's emotional. And it's worrisome.

She needs a tether.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

It's a family discussion that most families probably don't have. Ever.

"You two should start thinking about this," says their father.

 _This_ being when to stop aging. Should they wait it out and see if they'll naturally stop aging at some point? Should they ask for the bite and choose how old they were going to be forever?

"You will have to chose," adds their mother. "I can only make rough postulations as, like me, there hasn't been anyone _quite_ like you to ever exist on this world. You're truly unique…and that unfortunately means that you have to make some tough calls."

"We will fully support whatever it is you chose."

Decisions, decisions.

Although, probably not the decision most kids have on their sweet sixteens.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(In spite of his aching chest saying otherwise, Theo doesn't remember, but he is three years old when he meets the other half of his soul.

Alec is glad that Theo hasn't had to carry this with him for over a decade. Selfish as Alec is prone to be, he would not wish for the keeper of his heart to be burdened with the knowledge that it's _best_ for them if they are apart -

He has had to stop himself so many times from going back to Chicago, to finding that lemongrass-sweet scent that had scrambled his brain and take the green-eyed boy for himself. Just one glimpse was enough to ruin Alec and he still feels the burning touch of a tiny, venom-blood warmed touch tapping against his hand - stealing the thoughts from his head as easily as the breath from his perfunctory lungs. As much as Mistress Isabella humors him, as much as Master Aro favors him, he knows a grievous sin when he sees one. And it would be the most grievous sin to take that which is not ready to be taken -

He stays away, he asks for longer assignments in more and more remote places, and he bides his time, calling on patience that he hasn't bothered to use since he was human - since long before Jane was strapped to that pyre and he was screaming out her pain. But now he must place the needs of someone else above his own. It is a sacrifice he willingly makes.

This doesn't stop Jane's ribbing, though, once she discovers what had knocked Alec onto his ass. Or rather, who.

" _Him_?"

Alec closes his eyes. "Shut up, Jane."

"Are you kidding? I've been waiting ages for this," she says with mirth, hooking her arm through his as she leads him - and it _is_ necessary that he is led away, lest he do something really very stupid, like go and take his toddler-aged mate from the safety of his parents - to the elevator of the great New York tower that the Volturi have claimed for themselves.

"Jane."

"Him, though? I'm surprised you're not smoldering ashes right now. He's still a baby," she coos.

"He's three," he says defensively. It's a weak defense because Alec - though he _looks_ fifteen - is several hundred years old.

Jane snorts indelicately. "Is the little Prince even potty trained?"

Alec presses his lips together, silent.

"What did Bella say? Oh, wait, what will Master Aro say - Hey! Knock it off!" his twin screeches when he turns his gaze to her, depriving her of even the most basic of her senses.

"I warned you," he seethes, cutting off his gift with an abrupt clip.

"No, brother, I warned _you_ ," Jane corrects caustically. " Tell me, do you rue teasing me that day, yet?"

Alec does rue it - and he recognizes pay-back for what it is. This is what he gets for being a pain in the ass when Jane was perusing Alistair. So, yes, he does _rue_ his previous actions -

Almost as much as he rues the need for patience.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"What do you think?" Ellie asks one spring afternoon.

"I think that I don't know what to think," replies Theo as he lounges lazily on the cushioned bench beneath the wide windows in the living room.

"We would be more durable."

"There's not much that hurts us now," he points out.

Ellie hums. "We wouldn't be older than our parents."

"Physically, at least," he says dryly.

"Teddy, be serious."

"I am, Ellie. I just don't understand why we have to decide right now-"

"Don't you feel it?" she asks as she cuts him off hastily, dropping down onto the floor beside him to enjoy the cool sun peeking between the glass towers of Chicago's downtown.

"Feel what?"

"This urge to just…slow down…before its too late…"

Theo sits up, abandoning the book he'd been pretending to read. "You've been spending too much time with Aunt Alice."

"I have not."

"Have too."

"I'm trying to be _smart_ about this!" she argues, slapping her hand against her knee for emphasis.

"And I'm trying to tell you there is no need for urgency. Not yet," he returns coolly.

"You just don't want to talk about it because of that ache -"

"Ellie," he warns lowly. They don't talk about that. Not ever.

"Sorry."

"It's okay," he says, shrugging it off.

"I mean well," she says.

"I know."

Ellie reaches forward, clasping their hands together with a slight frown. _I don't want us to age differently._

 _You should have just said that in the first place._

 _And directly influence you?_ Her thoughts skitter as she pushes this forward.

Theo shrugs nonchalantly. "You know I don't care either way. I'll take the bite whenever you want to. That's what we promised each other, right?"

 _Right._

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(And then it all changes.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

The gravestone reads _CHARLES BURKE SWAN_ , chiseled in white marble and sat beneath an old tree crawling with moss that must be older than she is. Aside from _Beloved Father_ , there are no other adornments on the stone, not even birth and death dates just in case someone wandered onto the Cullen territory this far up in Washington and did some simple math to discover that Charlie Swan, her grandfather, had lived to the ripe old age of one-hundred and thirty-one - something that was _definitely_ better kept a secret, even if he hadn't ever looked a day over eighty, according to her mother.

She'd never met her grandfather, or her grandmother Renee for that matter. They'd both died long before Ellie and Theo were even a twinkle in their parent's eyes.

She wishes she had met him. Ellie thinks that Charlie Swan might have been the most honest soul to have ever lived, if the stories about him are believed to be true. Even Grandfather Aro and Grandmother Sulpicia - the easiest way to refer to them, honestly - sang praises about Charlie Swan.

He's very missed.

After the yearly visit to the grave site to pay their respects, Ellie and Theo are released to the surrounding forest after a reminder to _stay to the treaty line_. There were werewolves from the local reservation that still prowled the forests - the way Ellie understood it, the vampire population in Seattle was great enough that the wolf genes in the Quileute tribe were still agitated. It probably didn't help that the old Cullen territory in Forks was still visited frequently, at least once a year if not more.

She and Theo had been raised to respect the long-standing treaty line, and so they limit themselves to running along side the river, laughing boisterously as they race - it's so rare that they can really just _let loose_ because for as much as they love Chicago, the whole of Illinois doesn't lend itself well to privacy that would mask the unimaginable speed of vampires, even half-bloods like them. They certainly weren't as fast as the rest of their family - not yet - but they were much faster than the average human -

Theo stops on a dime. Ellie runs into his back a second later, making him stumble.

"What? What is it?"

"Wolf," Theo says quietly.

Ellie tilts her head, trying to catch the scent or the sound that had tipped her brother off -

 _Wow_.

Her mind skids to a halt as she inhales the sandalwood-willow-musk scent coming their direction from the west. It smells _amazing_ \- to her. Theo is already wrinkling his nose in distaste, even before the massive russet wolf streaked with black markings around the paws, muzzle, and ears lopes into the small clearing they have commandeered. The wolf huffs once, lips pulling away from glistening white teeth -

But only for a moment.

In the next thundering wet thud of that massive heart, the wolf's head cocks to the side, lupine amber eyes locking onto Ellie with intent. The wolf steps forward, just a single step that Ellie mirrors as she edges around her twin, shrugging off his restraining hand on her shoulder. Her heart is rabbiting in her chest, pressing hot and too-fast against her ribs as she moves closer to the wolf, hand held aloft in greeting - in an unmitigated need to _touch_ -

 _Never deny your instincts_.

In the next breath, the wolf melts into a tall young man with shortly cropped ink-black hair, smooth terra-cotta skin, and caramel-bright eyes riveted on her. He's naked, but it doesn't matter. He's not bashful and Ellie isn't exactly shy - not that she can be bothered to move her eyes away from the strong, firm bones of his face -

He catches her hand, dwarfing her with his superheated touch. She imagines it's something like touching a supernova, that's how _hot_ his blood is pumping.

She doesn't even think, pushing her thoughts forward. _I'm Ellie - Elisabet Masen._

The wolf-man doesn't flinch at her surname, though surely he must know _who_ she is - if he hadn't before - and he doesn't seem bothered that she had just pushed her thoughts directly into his head. "Nate," he rumbles back, ducking his head as they move closer together, drawn close like magnets.

They both ignore Theo's bewildered protests in the background, too lost in this new little world that has bloomed beneath the touch of their hands - the reaffirmation of an instantaneous bond.

Nate, she will soon learn, is short for Nathaniel Ephraim Black, the grandson of a boy her mother used to know and the rightful alpha wolf of the Quileute pack.

He's _her_ wolf - and she is _his_ imprint.

Together, they're something of a political crisis. An unprecedented event that results in the rehashing of treaty lines and the dissolution of pack rankings so that Nate is a pack unto himself and so that she and Nate can come back to this territory and make a life once she's out of school -

Who would have thought - a dhampir and a werewolf?

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(It's time.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Theodore."

Theo spins on his heel, the plastic bag from the corner store rustling as he tightens his grip. A male figure melts from the shadows of the alley he's just passed as he walks back home - which isn't creepy _at all_ \- and now Theo is left to stare at the familiar deep, deep charcoal trench coat that has dashed through many of his childhood memories in one form or another. He blinks, darting his eyes warily around the boy - around his age, a few inches taller and lithe, wind-blown platinum blond hair, a straight nose, and the dead giveaway of vampire-pale skin.

"Who are you?" he demands, slowly making sure his other hand is free - just in case.

"Strange as it may be, I'm relieved that you don't remember me," the boy says softly, all velveteen voice and bittersweet chocolate scent. He steps out of the shadows more, the streetlight leaving the sharpness of his bone structure in stark relief.

Something _clicks_ way in the back of Theo's mind. "I've met you before," he says. It's not a question.

"Yes."

Theo rubs absently at the center of his chest, then stops - freezes, actually, while his knees lock together and he blinks rapidly, looking at this stranger in a new light. His chest doesn't have that low-level lingering ache, anymore. His heart pumps wildly, bucking against his sternum as if it could beat right out of his chest - as if his heart isn't really his, but is actually this stranger's and he's just been holding it on reserve for sixteen years -

 _Never deny your instincts._

"I am Alec."

"You already know my name," Theo returns boldly.

"Yes."

Theo's eyes flick to the insignia, barely a shade brighter than the darkness of the upgraded coat that replaced cloaks in the Volturi once they moved from Italy, with a modicum of wariness. Not much, mind, because Theo is completely aware of what _he_ is to the Volturi - if his mother is a Princess, then he is a Prince and all Volturi know this, know that Theo cannot be touched. No, if a Volturi vampire is seeking him out - well, he really hopes this isn't bad news.

"You're part of the Volturi?"

"High Guard," Alec confirms, hesitating for a split second. "Actually, you probably know my sister -"

Sister? Well, Theo only knows of one set of siblings in the Volturi - no, wait. He knows two. Grandfather Aro and Great Aunt Didyme and….Jane, with the sadistic glee and icy-blonde hair -

"Wait, you're _that_ Alec?" he blurts in surprise, trying to reconcile _crazy_ Jane having a brother that looks so - honestly - normal. He knows, intellectually, that they are twins, that they are the witch-twins, and that surely Alec must be at least half as sadistic as his twin - but there's something screeching in his hind brain that is addling his thoughts, jumbling them all together.

Alec sighs. "Jane has spoken of me, then."

"Well - I guess she has, but honestly, none of it has been stellar," Theo divulges with a wince.

"Of course not. My sister lives to torment me."

Theo knows a thing or two about insufferable sisters, so he nods. "Uh-huh. So, do you have a reason for pulling a classic vampire and melting out of the shadows, or?"

Alec's lips stretch into a mildly predatory smirk. "Isn't it obvious?"

Theo's breath catches as Alec steps closer and even though they're nearly matched in height, he still has to tilt his head back a bit to maintain eye contact. Alec's eyes are that odd sunset-orange color that happens when vampires are hunting humans and animals. He wonders what color Alec's eyes were when he was human. Blue, maybe, or sea-green.

Why is he thinking something so _stupid_ right now? It's really not the time. Theo is being herded, slowly and deliberately, into the alley by patient steps, by an unbelievably intense spark racing between Alec and himself. He's never felt like this before. He never imagined it was possible.

"I've been waiting a long time for you," says Alec, leaning closer once Theo has pressed his back against rough wood.

"Why did you leave?" he mutters, shaking his head to clear cobwebs out of his thoughts.

Alec has been waiting? That means that Alec _knew_ \- and he _still left_ \- and Theo can't imagine that the reason is going to be anything he'll be pleased to hear - because if his racing heart and leaden stomach are anything to go by -

"It was better for you if -"

Theo's temper flares and he pushes against Alec's granite chest, doing very little to actually move the other boy away from him, not that he ever thought it was possible. "That wasn't for you to decide!" he hisses.

Alec's upper lip curls away from his teeth, a moderate show of aggression that doesn't scare Theo in the least, though surely it's cowed vampires before if Alec's reputation is anything to go by and he's positive that it is. "You were _three_ -"

"And you're _fucking demented_ if you think that sanctimonious, noble bullshit is going to-"

Alec catches his lips with a searing kiss that is heated enough to completely reboot Theo's brain -

 _Never deny your instincts_. _Take it from someone who knows how pointless it is to even try._

Theo lets Alec's touch be the balm to the ache in his chest that has mysteriously vanished

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

There are so many arrangements that have to be made - but the ones that matter are the ones that end with Theo and Ellie transitioning from mostly-human to mostly-vampire -

Two bites and two hearts pump slow - a single beat a minute _\- ta-thump_ \- for eternity.

* * *

 **A/N: An outtake request for the collectives wondering about the twins and Charlie. I hope that everyone was as entertained by the mates as I was because I spent a** _ **lot**_ **of time just straight-up cackling over those reveals. I'm sure I looked insane. Alas, that is all she wrote about the twins.**

 **We have one more outtake - one that I hope everyone is looking forward to - but I'm still cherry-picking scenes so it might be a few days.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	27. the outtakes: memory (part one)

**the outtakes**

 **memory**

 **(part one)**

* * *

 **Memory...is the diary that we all carry about with us.**

 **\- Oscar Wilde**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **AUGUST**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

He is restless as he is forced to roam through the minds of his family - always listening, always aware - and he is more and more resentful of their happiness each year. It is more difficult than it used to be, perhaps more difficult than it ought to be, and that in of itself is agitating. He should be happy that his family is happy.

And yet -

Edward snaps the cover of the book shut, grinding his teeth together to bite back the irritable growl that is near to escaping his lips. Emmett's thoughts are unbearably _loud_ , but Alice is a close second and at the moment she is positively swarming with untamed glee at some glimpse of a vision that she is very pointedly masking from her thoughts. As if Edward _cared_.

He frowns down at the book in his hand, the leather bending in protest under his alabaster grip, and shakes his head. This is getting out of hand. He's - well, if Carlisle is to be believed, Edward is experiencing the vampiric version of a _major depressive episode with melancholic features_. Which wasn't good. He probably wasn't helping his situation by masochistically reading about the Greek estimation of soulmates when he is decidedly lacking. He was moderately shamed to realize that he's been ruminating about the possibility for the past few years; more than one book in his collection featured the topic in heavy philosophical detail and that definitely wasn't helping matters, either.

What if Aristotle was right? What if _love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies_?

Here Edward is, surrounded on three sides by the very proof that such a notion is patently true, and he is still bereft.

Maybe he was changed too young? But no - Alice is physically two years younger than himself and she didn't seem to have any problem finding the other half of her soul in Jasper. The problem, then, was Edward.

(Was this punishment from God for his actions in the 1930's? Was this to be his retribution for his audacity in deciding who lived and died? Was he to remain this way, half-complete with an emptiness in his chest until he finally met the end of his eternal night?)

Edward drifts away from the wall where he had been standing, placing the book that had dwarfed his emotions back onto the shelf, and lingering in front of titles that blur in front of his unseeing eyes. He might have remained that way, still as a statue as he tried to block out the contented thoughts around him, if only Esme had not turned the Mercedes onto the long, winding driveway.

He cocks his head to the side, catching the pleased tenor of her thoughts. She'd run out to Port Angeles for an errand a few hours before and had evidently encountered _a lovely young lady - Bella - surely Chief Swan's wayward daughter returned home - yes, Carlisle did mention that news recently - what a kind girl, planning a renovation to fill her time before school begins - such initiative - I'm so glad to have helped her …._

Edward sighs, then turns to go downstairs to help Esme with her purchases seeing as how he is the only one in the house - as always - who is _unoccupied_ at the moment. A very, very small part of him is perturbed by the way Esme has fixated on this girl, but it's such a removed concern that he can't be bothered to _care_ -

(He should have known then that this would not be the last time he heard about a girl named Bella Swan.)

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **SEPTEMBER**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

There have certainly been more impressive schools than Forks High that Edward has attended. It is small, appropriately delayed in the savvy technological developments of schools in bigger cities, as is only fitting for a series of buildings that served a maximum population of eight hundred students in total. Still, eight hundred minds is quite a few for a telepath who cannot shield himself from sound and he has been spoiled by the relative insulation of the summer holidays. He has also conveniently forgotten how fascinated these backwater humans are by his family; the previous year, when Edward was pretending to be a sophomore on the cusp of sixteen rather than the undead creature of permanent seventeen that he truly is, he had been alarmed by the obsession present in the thoughts around him. It was always worse in smaller schools - the Cullens were hard to ignore anywhere, but especially where the crowds were so small.

He suppresses a groan as he navigates toward his first class, sinking into a seat in the back of the classroom, and doing his best to ignore the cohort around him -

There is a stutter in a cluster of thoughts off the gymnasium. He unwittingly latches onto the thoughts of a _Michael Newton_ and with a muted start, he realizes that Newton is thinking specifically about one Bella Swan, who even a month later was frequently in Esme's thoughts. For lack of anything better to do, he follows the hormonal, jumbled flow of Newton's thoughts - ah. Interesting. The girl is apparently advanced - no, not just advanced. Gifted. She _should_ be a freshman, but she would be taking classes with the seniors. How rare for a human to show any kind of pronounced ambition or skill -

Mrs. Kelley calls for the role, interrupting the strange tangent Edward had started on, and he sits up straighter, prepared to play human on this first day of school. Hopefully, if he made just the right impression of being present, attentive, but detached, he would avoid complications further in the year…

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Rosalie is _entertained_ \- and broadcasting it with such clarity that Edward can't help but poke at her mind from the distance, trying to see what has captured her attention so completely, so uncharacteristically-

Bella Swan _again_.

Just what _was_ it about this girl?

Whatever it is, she'd certainly made an impression on Rosalie - defiant to Mr. Varner, but so sharply intelligent that she was beyond reproach, which was something Rosalie always appreciated in human girls. Something to do with the feminist tirades Rose could be inspired to grasp onto every once in a while.

In a building on the opposite of the central office, Edward sits back in his seat, pushing away from Rosalie's mind once she realizes that the girl was observant - had obviously recognized Emmett's pretend surname as one that is shared with Esme - but not so observant as to be caught in the lure of vampiric beauty as so many other humans were.

And he would have been perfectly content to remain outside of Rosalie's mind - circumstances always determined that it was best if Rose be afforded as much privacy as possible at all times and he did his best to accommodate that request out of grudging respect for his pig-headed sister - if only the lunch periods at this insufferable institution were broken up by class. Instead, all of the humans converge onto the square cafeteria for exactly forty-five minutes just after noon and the Cullens all play the parts that are assigned to them.

Only Rosalie has noticed the entrance of Bella Swan and Alice is practically bouncing in her seat and even Emmett has turned to stare at the slip of a girl who has seated herself at the empty tables near the windows lining the side of the cafeteria. Edward doesn't bother to turn. He lazily peruses Emmett's thoughts, catching sight of Bella Swan reading _A Bolt From the Blue and Other Essays_ , completely content to be by herself with just an apple to sustain her - an amusingly even appearing startled when a good portion of the freshman class settle around her, as if her concentration had been so intent that she hadn't even noticed the clamor of teenagers around her -

One girl - frizzy, curly hair and a rather gossiping mind - Jessica Stanley - has caught sight of them. _OhmyGod, they're gorgeous -_ "Do you _see_ them?" she asks the table around her and predictably, over a dozen human eyes land on the Cullen table, immediately followed by a series of hormonal fluctuations -

"Oh," Bella Swan says dispassionately.

It's enough of an off-color reaction that Edward _does_ turn around, just for a moment - but the view of her is blocked by the other teenagers, and so he settles on viewing her from the mind of Newton again - just for curiosity's sake. She is still holding her book, but as Jessica expresses her incredulity at Bella's lackluster response - something which even Jasper is bewildered by - she eventually places a bookmark with a sigh and appears to examine the Cullen table critically -

"The tall girl with the blonde hair? That's Rosalie Hale," Bella says to Jessica after a moment. "The guy who looks like he can lift a car is Emmett Cullen. I don't know any of the others."

And he wonders more at the placid response so he tries to slip into her mind, something which is as old hat to Edward as composing the bridge of a melody -

 _He can't hear her._

Edward freezes.

"Bummer," Jessica sighs dreamily, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "I was hoping you would know who the one with the reddish hair is…"

Edward twists around - just certain that eye contact would enable him to get a read on her - but then Alice's foot kicks him under the table and he turns back with a scowl -

 _Be patient_ , Alice sing-songs.

 _What a strange human -_ Rosalie.

 _Rather muted emotions_ \- Jasper - _Reckon she must be mature, hey, Edward?_

 _You all are having a conversation again, aren't you? No fair_ \- Emmett. _Hey, hey. What's going on_?

"I don't know," Edward grits out, even as his ears track the conversation happening half a room and four hundred humans away -

The pastor's daughter, Angela Webber, might be more perceptive than any of them would have guessed. Even from this distance, she's disturbed by their _otherness_ , though her thoughts don't quite frame her unease so explicitly. "Don't they seem sort of…dangerous?" she asks Bella Swan.

And all Bella Swan has to say to _that_ is a disinterested, "No. They're just people."

"Just people," Angela repeats, relaxing minutely. "You're right. I'm just being silly."

Bella Swan hums, already engrossed in her book -

 _What do you mean you don't know_? Rosalie demands.

Edward shakes his head, craning his neck again to catch a glimpse of this strangely silent girl without bothering to mask his frustration -

Her eyes are deep, mossy green, uncommonly vibrant and clear -

"Oh, don't worry about it, Rose," Alice chirps. "Edward just can't hear Chief Swan's daughter. Isn't that right, Edward?"

A chorus of confused, disbelieving _whats_ -

Edward doesn't even have a chance to rip his gaze away from Bella Swan's, as she has already refocused her attention on her book with clearly no intention of paying any of them another iota of thought. He blinks, nostrils flaring. With great effort, he returns the searching gaze of his family and confirms what Alice has already revealed -

But even though he is incredibly disturbed by this development, it doesn't escape his notice that Alice is artfully occluding her mind, a fact which is highly suspect.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Vampires are never late anywhere, and yet inexplicably Edward finds himself quite tardy to the last class of the day - an unfortunate part of playing human was having to deal with tediously outdated lockers that become stuck for no apparent reason, thus delaying him for long enough that the warning bells have already rung throughout the school. He suppresses a sigh and moves at human pace, finally unencumbered by the textbooks that teachers have insisted on handing out all day. What a hassle - he should have just taken them home, as it wasn't as if he was going to use the locker again at any point during the school year -

Warmth careens into his chest rather abruptly, a student running into him in the middle of this empty outdoor hallway, and he automatically reaches out to stabilize the human's balance, as he was aware that running into any vampire was surely akin to walking right into a brick wall and _the last_ thing he needed was a bleeding human on his hands -

Not just any human.

 _Bella Swan_.

She stares up at him with wide, doe-like eyes, their color an unbearably unique shade of mossy green that is flecked with all manner of ocher and cinnamon and gold. His first thought is that she is remarkably lovely, every bit as attractive as a vampire but warmed with blood that stains the smooth flesh of her cheeks an appealing shade of amaranth -

By rote, he inhales. It's habit from eighty years of trying to blend in and is part of a series of movements he makes each day as he tries to pretend that he, too, has a soul and a heart beating in his chest -

Breathing is a mistake.

Although he knows it to be impossible, Edward's mind short-circuits _completely_ \- and it's like a crack of lightning ricocheting down his spine, like the burning of the bite all over again, like the tremor of tectonic plates slipping against each other as he stands directly over a fault line, like a solar flare changing the magnetism of the Earth -

One second has passed since Bella Swan made the unfortunate mistake of literally walking into him -

The scent - _the scent_ \- it's beyond anything he's ever experienced - sweet, but heady, floral, but not overly fragrant, tinged with fruitiness, but tempered by acid - candied pecans and lilacs and lilies and pomegranates and chocolate-dipped strawberries - and it dances across his olfactory nerves, seeps into his taste buds as his lips pull back to reveal the venom-slickened weapons masquerading as teeth inside his mouth. His senses are singing, turned all the way up and focused entirely on this little slip of a thing that has broken his self-control. His hands tighten on her arms to prevent any escape - even, hopefully, to prevent even the idea of escape.

He'd hate for bruises to mar what he is perfectly sure is flawless ivory skin -

Not that bruises would detract from her appeal, of course. In fact, his marks on her skin might even make the rush of pushing into that blood-hot-wet-vice even _better_ \- a complete experience where he can prove that he has marked her even half as much as she has marked him -

Her pulse jumps, hear beating humming bird quick inside the fragile case of her chest, and he growls sub-vocally, canting his head toward the sound and widening the snarling maw of his mouth. She remains still, though she swallows heavily, likely some prey instinct in her brain trying to make her last moments as non-violent as possible. All it does, however, is draw his eyes to her throat, a graceful length with a jumping pulse, protected only by the thinnest, most insubstantial layer of skin.

God, but does he want his mouth _there_. His teeth, his tongue, his lips. Anything. Everything. He would have everything -

"Edward, no!"

Alice's lack of tact certainly wasn't going to save the girl, not even her screeching thoughts of _NOT HER YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND PLEASE DON'T JUST WAIT PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE -_

He twists, slamming Bella's back against the row of nearby lockers and emitting a thundering, roiling growl that meant _do not disturb me_ \- _or else_. If anyone - anyone - got in the way, he'd kill them. He would. It would be so easy - and then he would have the girl, her blood and her body and her submission and -

"Think of Carlisle! He would be so disappointed!"

Oh, silly Alice. Not even Carlisle could stop what's happening right now.

Edward dips his head down, skimming it up the side of Bella's neck, inhaling long and deep. His eyes roll in the back of his head. Venom pools against his tongue even as heat stirs in his loins. The girl trembles in his grip -

For a moment - just a millisecond, maybe less - he is… _disturbed_ by her fear. Why should she fear him?

But then it passes with Jasper's arrival and unlike Alice, that really _is_ a threat to Edward's prize, to Edward gaining this coyly-scented trophy for himself because Jasper would not hesitate to do to Edward what he had done to so many before -

And then there is Emmett and Rosalie and both of their thoughts are so _loud_ \- just screaming and threatening and planning and now the situation is more complicated because Edward is a good fighter, but not even he can take on four vampires at a time.

What a pity. He'd wanted to savor this experience, but it wouldn't be possible. If he let the girl go to deal with these threats to his desire, then one of his siblings would inevitably get her far, far away from Edward and he couldn't have that, could he? No. No, he supposes the only course of action is to simply _bite_ \- _fuck_ \- _can't do both_ \- _which did he want more -_

"Step away from the girl, Edward," Emmett finally rumbles darkly. "This isn't the Cullen way."

Edward growls in response, flashing his hand forward to curl around Bella's thought, lifting her negligible weight from the ground. He wants to smirk as she scrambles and squirms, her small feet banging against the lockers and her breath escaping her parted, luscious lips. He wonders if she realizes _how appealing that is_ -

God, but he wants her. _So sweet, that blood, I must taste it…it's mine - she's mine -_

" _Mine_!" he snarls, both to the girl and to his family - and then he darts in for the kill - or the ravaging, he hasn't quite made up his mind - and how peculiar is that?

What is he _doing?_ This isn't how he's meant to be -

But in the same moment, something seems to…flip in Bella Swan and while it's obvious to the analytic portion of his brain that is constantly filing data away that she is still overwhelmed by panic, it is also obvious from the sudden flintiness in the directness of her watery gaze that she was about to _fight_. Her hands come to rest on his wrist, on the back of his hand, pulling futility at his stony fingers around the column of her throat -

All it takes is a touch -

A fine, dark red rivet of blood slips from her nose -

Her small hands press against his skin harder, abandoning escape in favor of _pure intent_ -

 _NO!_

The thought is hard and heavy and loud, a chorusing _clang_ of a sledgehammer supercharged with electricity and rage and the need to _survive_ \- and like a battering ram, it slams against his sensitive telepathy artlessly, accompanied by a flood of energy that is not unlike a lightning rod -

In an instant, he releases her in favor of clutching at his head with a cry of pain - actual _pain_ , something he hasn't felt physically for a very, very long time. He's dizzy and stumbling with vertigo, hitting the cold cement as his limbs twitch mindlessly. His eyes are shut, his ears are ringing, and he only very distantly realizes that he's being hauled away by his siblings. He only notices because - beyond that immense, immeasurably, immutable pain - that scent that was making him toe the precipice of fuck or kill is fading like a distant memory -

(He hurts for _hours_ afterward and he didn't think that was possible. Not even Kate's channeling of electricity has caused such lingering pains and this is worse because along with the agony fissuring through his mind is an unabating, gloating mental anguish that leaves him sluggish and oversensitive in convoluted turns.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _I can't believe you, Edward Masen -_

 _Dude, was she your singer? Do you think, I mean, you know what it was like for me -_

 _Oh, Edward, you've made it all so complicated now - and she knows, Edward. She_ knows _what we are -_

 _Need to get a damn drink. Anything'll do. Your bloodlust almost killed that girl twice over -_

 _Carlisle will have a solution. He always knows what's best for us, Edward -_

He's in too much pain to tell his family to _quiet_ down and so all he can do is cover his ears with his hands, much the same has he did when he first woke into this hellish farce of a life, and pray to a God that has abandoned him - pray for forgiveness and pray for an end to the pain, to the quiver of his bones, and pray for an end to the rattle of obsession that has been born in his mind -

God, of course, doesn't answer him.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"I'm going to Alaska," he says, but he doesn't look up. He's too _ashamed_ to raise his eyes to his sire, to his father, and though the tenor of Carlisle's mind is as fair and compassionate as ever, Edward doesn't think he could bear to see even the shadow of censure in those kind golden eyes. No, it's better if he just keeps his stare trained onto the glossy leather of his loafers.

"If you think that is what is best for you," Carlisle murmurs after a moment.

Edward bows his head lower. Removing himself from the equation _is_ what is best - for himself, for the family, and for the girl.

(He can't think her name. He doesn't deserve to utter it, not even in his mind.)

That night, Edward runs nonstop to Denali, wallowing in self-loathing that is completely deserved. He needs the space to think and regroup and try and figure out _why_ everything had gone so wrong so quickly -

(He doesn't return or plan to anytime soon.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

It is Tanya who points it out to him, which isn't at all surprising as she has lived through horrors Edward can't even contemplate and has come out stronger, wiser, and more astute - and she is blunt. She doesn't beat around the bush, but she isn't callous about it in the same way that Rosalie often is. Instead, she acts as a shepherd and leads him to the metaphorical watering hole with the posing of a single question.

"Do you know the difference between lust and bloodlust, Edward?"

And no, he realizes with no small amount of loathing, he had not realized the difference between the two -

He had not even realized until it was brought to his attention that for the girl it had not been _only_ bloodlust that had claimed the most base of Edward's instincts - no, she had also fanned the flames of his lust and he was so caught up in self-flagellation over his slight against her person that it had slipped his mind that his interaction with her had been more complicated.

Edward ruminates over this for a very long time, sitting on a tall drift of snow and ice for days and days -

He has to go back.

Even Edward is not so arrogant as to assume that he will have this chance _again_.

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **OCTOBER**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

"I'm glad you decided to come back," Alice trills brightly, clasping him into an excited embrace that is quickly followed by Esme's maternal press and the clap of Carlisle's hand on his shoulder. Jasper hangs back, as he is wont to do, but Emmett does not hesitate to greet Edward warmly, his mind teasing over the phrase _prodigal son returns_ -

Rosalie is more aloof, not that he expected anything different. What he does not expect, however, is the way her mind flashes protectively over the mental image of Bella Swan who is - by Rosalie's estimation - something of a brilliant enigma, bold and serious and unfathomably intelligent. "I like this girl, Edward," Rosalie says softly, crossing her arms over her chest. _You'll have to go through me to hurt her._

Edward keeps his lips sealed. He has an inkling of what the girl is to him - after a month of thinking about it, he's pretty certain that she has changed him, the unchanging vampire - but he can't be sure, yet, and so he does not try to defend himself. It's pointless to try defending his actions to Rosalie, anyway. She can be stone when she wants to be.

"Yeah, me too!" Emmett says jovially. "She's got big brass ones, I'll tell you what!"

Edward obligingly follows the barreling train of Emmett's thoughts - his memories, really, all gathered in pop-rock snippets of a dark haired girl with keen attention and a small issue with authority and very little patience for students slower than herself - though she hides it well -

Alice, too, eagerly presents him with memories of the girl, carefully occluding any visions that surround her - maybe he should wonder at that, but he's admittedly entranced by Alice's version of the girl, who she thinks to be somewhat wry, but also very kind -

Jasper's memories are more remote, focused on observing the whip-smart mouth and the philosophical twinge to her arguments in class -

Edward doesn't realize he's sat on the bench of his baby grand, a slight smile quirking the corner of his lips, until Esme's joyous thoughts cut through a month's worth of memories of Bella Swan-

 _Oh, this must be what we've all waited for_.

Edward must concede that it just might be. Hope swells in his quiet heart.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

His first glimpse of her - the _real_ first sight of her without the taint of frustration at being unable to hear her thoughts and without the heady mindlessness of bloodlust clouding his reason - is from across the parking lot.

She walks to school apparently, nose buried in a book with a tall thermos in hand; she flips pages with her thumb, a well-practiced motion, and does not falter as her terrain shifts from gravel and grass to the smoothness of sidewalk cement. She is dressed in the way many of her peers are, bearing flesh that would have been scandalous in another time, but she does so with an air of modesty, comfortable in layers and tall socks and sturdy boots. Her hair is the same shade as the darkest Columbian roasted coffee bean, her complexion of ivory pressed with rose petals. And when she looks up at him, a flash of fear in deep, wide green eyes, only to turn away with a pointed air of nonchalance, his stomach flips.

She is so young. Fifteen according to Alice and of course Alice would know.

But she doesn't carry herself as a fifteen year old might. There is something old in her, in her soul, that shows itself in the coolness of her posture, in the way she seems to float in the student body, untethered by the immature clashes for popularity and teenage hormones that have gripped every other human. She is apart from them all.

He wishes he could just hear her - for a moment - and without it _hurting_ so damn much -

He settles for watching her through the eyes of everyone else, impressed by the way she so casually treats his siblings, even the amusing sardonic comment she mumbles when Emmett tries his hand at riling her up. "What is he, Beetlejuice?" she asks rhetorically with a shake of the head, much to Emmett's delight.

 _Did you hear that, Eddie-boy? A girl after my own heart!_

She is decidedly _more_ standoffish when the topic of her lunch table inevitably swings toward the topic of his return to school. She doesn't seem to care for Jessica's chattering and that is when he truly discovers that Bella Swan is possessed of a truly astounding amount of focus - she reads her book, seeming to sink into the storyline with no attention paid to the world at all - that is, until the conversation turns into the uncomfortable area of speculation about his family.

"They're all adopted," Jessica gossips. "And together. Like _together-together_. Dating and living in the same house! Can you imagine?"

"And Edward is all alone," adds the rather mean-spirited Lauren, leaning forward on her elbows with a nasty smile that instantly draws the focus of the conversation to her. "Or is he? I mean, it's all so scandalous, so who knows what the parents are into. With the good doctor always tied up at the hospital and the couples always together, what do Edward and the mother get up to-"

"Oh, Lauren! That's horrible!" says Angela.

"Oh, please. Like it's that hard to imagine. They're just plain _weird_ and-"

"That's enough," Bella injects sharply as she snaps her book closed and stands from the table. And because he can't hear her, it is much to his surprise when she continues waspishly, "So what if they're all adopted and dating? It's not like they're actually related so don't go stopping the presses over it. And I'll have you know that Esme Cullen is a lovely woman who does not deserve your _vile_ speculation, Lauren Mallory. You would be better suited to keep your mouth shut about things you know nothing about."

 _Damn!_ Emmett thinks with a wide smile. _What did I tell you, Eddie-boy? Big brass ones!_

 _Oh, Esme will be so pleased,_ comes Alice's bright thoughts, which are strangely on par with Rosalie's, who is quietly approving of the firm way Bella has jut out her chin in a defiant challenge. Rosalie smirks when Bella's challenge is answered by a resentful declaration of teasing from Lauren.

"I-I didn't mean it," Lauren huffs, curling away from Bella's derisive snort. "Really. I was just messing around."

"Maybe you shouldn't be telling that to _me_ ," Bella says pointedly and because she's standing, Edward can see that she has nodded over to his table. "I'll see you guys later."

He manages to catch her eye before she leaves though and he isn't completely sure what expression is on his face, but he can guess that it's one of bewilderment. He has never seen a human stand up for anyone in his family - especially not a human who _knew_ what they were. But this girl is fearless it seems, or is otherwise unbothered by the idea of vampires. Maybe because she's also gifted?

Bella Swan - the enigma with the implacable focus.

He needs to _know_ this girl.

Determined anew, he makes his move in the only class period that they share - an art elective that Edward actually enjoyed and that Bella Swan was hopelessly outclassed by, a fact that he soon discovers as he sets up his station beside hers, wallowing in the sucker-punch her scent sends to his gut. As he relishes in the slow burn in his throat and in his groin, he notices from the corner of his eye that Bella does a better job making a mess than actually making…whatever it is she's trying to make with that clay.

"I'm sorry for being rude the other day," he murmurs, leaning toward her by just a hair.

Her dark, finely-arched brows shoot upward. "Rude?" she parrots, the feminine alto of her voice thick with ironic humor. "Well, _okay_ , if that's the word you want to go with, fine. You were pretty _rude_ the last time we saw each other."

Edward - well, there's no other word for it - falters. That was not the reaction he expected, but then again, she seems to be strong willed, maybe even as strong as that sledgehammer fist of energy in her mind. "I'm hoping you'll forgive me," he says with a small, bashful smile, almost certain that if he just projects the right body language that she will -

"Forgive?"

He hesitates at the hard tone in her voice, the flintiness flashing in her verdant gaze. He swallows. "I behaved terribly and I hope for your forgiveness," he reiterates carefully.

Bella briskly cleans her hands off with a wet cloth, seeming to collect herself before she turns toward him with that same defiant set to her jaw that she'd used with Lauren - and Edward cannot escape the feeling that he is treading on a landmine as she says, "Edward, right?"

(Even though the tone is not strictly friendly, he likes the way she says his name.)

"Yes. Edward Cullen. I'm pleased to meet you properly," he says with a smile, the same stretch of lips that had made women swoon even when he was human.

Bafflingly, it doesn't seem to have any effect on Bella Swan. "Sure… _Edward Cullen_. Look, I think we might be having a bit of a miscommunication right now," she informs him frankly. "I mean, aside from the semantics of word choice and the fact that _rude_ doesn't even begin to cover attempting to choke the life out of me _or_ having serious issues talking yourself out of literally drinking my blood, we have a bigger issue to deal with here."

Edward sits back abruptly, feeling severely wrong-footed and off-balance. He can't read her mind. It's a bigger handicap than he had anticipated - and she still smells so _good_ , so much like _his_. No, this isn't what he'd anticipated. Not at all.

"I see," he realizes quietly, eyeing her with a small measure of trepidation. "And what would that issue be, exactly?"

Her answer is swift and terribly blunt. "You're terrible at apologies. Just…so bad at them."

"Excuse me?"

She gestures to his person with a roll of her wrist, a single brow arched in bemusement. "The entire presentation was underwhelming. You're _sorry_ for being rude? You want me to forgive you? That's entirely too vague. What, exactly am I forgiving you for? And _why_ should I forgive you?"

He blinks a few times. "You're absolutely right, I-"

"And, what about your motivations?" she interjects swiftly. "Are you only apologizing because I know your secret, or are you genuinely sorry?"

His breath leaves him, a slow deflation of the lungs as he stares at this willful, beautiful creature before him. He suspects that there is nothing he can say to salvage this conversation - and he supposes that she is right that he honestly has no idea what he is asking forgiveness for. He certainly regrets the way they had met, but that regret hadn't kept him away, had it? Add that to the fact that she doesn't interact with him the way other humans interact with vampires. She isn't swayed by all the physiological lures of his person - or if she is, she's much better at managing it than he is.

He watches silently as she cleans up her station and leaves the classroom - as she leaves him to contemplate this challenge she has presented him with.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Heard she handed your ass to you, bro."

"What? How did you - _Alice_!"

"Little pixie has her uses, huh?"

"Leave me alone, Emmett."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Obviously, he has to rethink his approach. He's not so arrogant as to think he has handled this situation perfectly - and her blood is still affecting him, winding through his mind with gossamer seduction, and surely _that_ is the reason that he has been so wrong-footed. Yes, that must be why. It is perhaps a good thing, then, that Edward is the stubborn sort because after regrouping, he wades into his next interactions with Bella Swan with greater determination.

It is - as he should have known it would be - an incredible blunder.

The tip-off should have been that she seems to _entertain_ his questions, as if she is indulging his attempts rather than actually having a congress - which is admittedly intimidating. _Amazing_. Edward Cullen, vampire of over a hundred years, intimidated by a wisp of a human girl.

"Why did you come to Forks?"

She shrugs a shoulder indifferently, which only serves to further corrupt her most recent attempt at throwing clay into something passably recognizable. He finds it endearing. "My Mom remarried."

 _Ah, finally_ , he thinks with a modicum of relief. He knows this type of teenage angst. Confidently, he proclaims, "And you don't like the guy."

Her pert nose wrinkles. "What? No, Phil is great, he's good for Renee. Stable. She needs that. But he travels, too, and it would have hurt her to be away from him. So I left instead."

He catches her eye. "Selfless. Sacrificing your own happiness."

Bella stares at him, unimpressed by his deduction. Then she says flatly, "Did I ever indicate that I wasn't happy here?"

(Yet another wrong step. He can't seem to get it right.)

"You make a lot of assumptions," she tells him.

At that, he feels frustration paint itself across his features. "Usually, I don't _have_ to assume. You're a difficult read."

 _More like she's in an entirely new language and I will never catch up to the learning curve._

He's surprised when she laughs, a low musical chuckle that shivers down his spine. His chest clenches at the sound. He wants to hear it again. "So are you," she says as she wipes mirthful little tears from her cheeks.

He feels warm - truly _warm_ \- as he smiles at her, helpless to do anything else because being this off-kilter, while wildly irritating, is also a blessing because of who she is to him, or who she _could_ be to him. It's worth his pride just to hear her laugh, to see her smile. She has a face that isn't quick to those expressions of joy, everything about her always tinged with the barest hint of wryness. But when she does laugh…

"You're a pretty odd fifteen year old," Edward says.

"And you're pretty odd," she returns glibly.

(This is progress.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"All I'm sayin' is that I can't get a good read on her emotions, Ed-"

"You said she didn't have _any_!"

"Not any that I could get a hook on! Jesus Christ, boy! Keep your damn mood swings to yourself! At least she doesn't feel contempt for you like _I do right now_!"

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She has such sublime conversation - able to tune out the world on her whim while he is forced to run miles into desolate forest to do the same. She's rather adorable when she reads, isn't she? A tiny furrow in her brow, eyes darting quickly over the pages. Sometimes, she bites on that bee-stung lower lip and it is all he can do to remain in his seat. Lust, he has decided, is not an emotion to sneeze at and while he's never understood lust before, it seems that he is doomed to make up for lost time.

 _Ed, the girl is only_ reading _,_ Jasper thinks mulishly. _Tone it down a few pegs before I have to drag Alice outside and do unmentionable things in your car -_

Edward blinks, flicking a dark look in Jasper's direction, before allowing his eyes to return to Bella. She's reading _The Count of Monte Cristo_ and it is yet another new genre that he can attach to her. She doesn't seem to have any discriminatory tastes at all - he's almost positive that she would read anything set down in front of her and he can't wait to show her the Cullen library -

"Bella. Bel-la. Hey. Earth to Bella." Jessica huffs then resorts to snapping her fingers close to Bella's ear to draw her attention, an action that has Edward biting back a growl at the rudeness, at the audacity. But Bella doesn't do anything more that blink a bit owlishly and raise her gaze to the other girl placidly. "Sorry," says Jessica. "Did you hear what I said?"

Bella shakes her head, dark hair slipping from behind her ear to obscure the high arch of her cheekbone.

"I said, Edward Cullen is staring at you," Jessica repeats.

Edward starts at that. Had Jessica said that already once before? _When_? Was it - could it be possible that Edward had been so caught up in simply watching Bella Swan that he _had_ managed to tune out the world, possibly with the exception of the louder vampire minds immediately near him? That was - that had never happened before…

"I wonder if he's thinking about asking you to the dance! Wouldn't that be amazing? A junior asking a freshman!"

"Except Bella is a senior, technically," says Angela.

"Oh, that's right," Jessica breathes excitedly.

"Well, if you ask me, it would be weird. He's, like, what? Seventeen?" Mike asks impolitely.

 _A bit older than that_ , Edward wants to retort, but he doesn't. He only has eyes for Bella and she seems content to just shrug noncommittally, seemingly not enthused by the prospect of the Halloween Dance. He wonders what she would say if he _did_ ask her. Would she say yes, knowing what he is? And not that Edward has any designs to attend some banal high school dance, but -

"We're definitely going to that dance!" Alice suddenly declares, once again occluding her mind.

But the smiles she shoots him is sunny and he has learned to not bet against her - and besides, Bella has just agreed to attend with her friends, and he can't help but view that as another opportunity to become closer to her. To puzzle out what makes her tick.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _"Oh, no!"_

"Alice! What are you - _Alice when does that happen?_ "

"Today, I think, I-"

"Where? _Where_ , damn it?"

"Port Angeles - I - Edward _you need to_ -"

"I am!"

"I'm coming, too!"

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

He has never driven so fast in his life, the Volvo's engine protesting as it overheats under the relentless way he has pressed his foot to the pedal. It would be faster to run - he could be too late, entrapped in this cage of a car while Bella is - is - But he can't run and neither can his siblings because Port Angeles is a crowded port town and it is a weekend and there cannot be _witnesses_ -

He is almost too late as tires screech into the darkened alley between a department store and coffee shop-

Unadulterated rage shoots through him at the sight that greets him - at the nasty, dark cloud of thoughts that scream of pain and sadism and evil - the kind of mind he would have sought out on purpose in the 30's just to remove the scum from the face of the planet -

Bella has been fighting back, but it's been futile. Her tights are ripped and her dress is hoisted high over her waist and her hair is knotted and she is bleeding and there are _hands on her_ -

He leaps from the car, snarl on his lips as he rips these vile creatures away from _his mate_ , uncaring of the force he is exerting as bones snap and skulls crack against brick and pavement, the coppery scent of blood filling the air and feeding the galvanized, growling beast trying to break through his skin. He will _kill_ them -

Bella falls to the ground in the next second, curling her body protectively, sobbing with wide eyes and pale cheeks - and he moves in front of her, tethered and immobile, a force that will shield her from the rest of the world until everything is ashes if need be. It's not enough to cage the seething monster inside, but a larger portion of his instincts are clamoring _protect mate do not leave protect mate_ and he is a slave to these instincts as much as he is a slave to her.

He'd almost been too late.

It's a good thing he didn't come alone. His family is taking care of the vermin, Rose in particular is taking pleasure in snapping the tiny, hard-to-heal bones in hands as Emmett bodily lifts the would-be rapists - unconscious from pain or from whiplash, it doesn't matter - into a single pile of wretched human bodies. Edward is still a rumbling mass of vampire fury, a sentinel to the precious thing at his back that will not back down to the likes of anyone, let alone his siblings who only have good intentions -

"I'm going to check her whether you like it or not," Rosalie spits, just a breath away from being completely unhinged by the return of her trauma playing a loop in the back of her mind. "Don't make me move you myself."

"Let us do it," says Alice, projecting clear visions of Bella being _happy_ and _safe_ and _unhurt_ , _unmolested, untouched_ , her manipulation at its finest.

He steps aside - grudgingly - but does not stray far. Even just a foot to the left and he is quivering with madness, aching to just pull his vulnerable mate into his arms and protect her from the world. It's almost physically impossible to keep himself away, even as he is aware that his nearness may not bring her comfort after -

"I'm fine," she murmurs, voice breaking with the thickness of tears and fear still in her voice. "They didn't…"

Edward closes his eyes in relief.

He hadn't been too late.

"No bruises, right?" Alice asks after a few moments, after she has seen to straightening Bella's clothes and hair, cleaning the tear tracks from her cheeks and wiping blood from her upper lip.

"Physically unharmed," Rosalie confirms. "Mentally…"

"I'm fine," Bella repeats.

"She really is," Jasper realizes, his brows furrowed. _Four on one and she walks away with only a nose bleed? And those are big men…_ "Christ, but how the hell-?"

One of the vermin groan and in a flash, Edward has positioned himself in front of his fragile mate, growling a threat that softens only when a dainty hand presses against the middle of his back - soothing the beast quite effectively.

"I'm okay," she whispers to him, catching his gaze with solemn eyes.

He turns to her in supplication then, rubbing his thumb beneath her nose to catch a stray drop that had lingered - and for a second, he catches her _thoughts_ and this time without pain and she is concerned for _him_ \- and he can do nothing but lick the blood from his thumb, closing his eyes. Ecstasy. Relief. Reassurance. Pleasure. The fine burn of bloodlust that pales in comparison to the rage still simmering in the back of his mind. He inhales deeply, cataloging her scent, and then opens his eyes so that he might kneel before her, helping her with her shoe and never daring to break the lock of their eyes.

She is shaken - he can tell, he _knows_ from that tiny brush of her mind against his - but she is stronger than he gave her credit for as she insists on helping them deal with the vermin piled up in the middle of the alley. "I'm not a doll, Edward," she insists. "I think I can handle watching them be dropped off at the police station without suffering from a mental breakdown."

He wants to argue, jaw working tightly, but swallows his protests with a healthy dose of humility. She might be his mate, but she was not his _property_ \- she had a choice and right now she wanted this. He would give it to her against his better sense. This is what she wants - to see justice. Fine. They are both strong-willed, he is realizing, and he might as well get used to compromising now.

Bella Swan wouldn't be controlled.

She would, however, gladly wear his jacket.

(He does not acknowledge the satisfied rumble of the monster in his head at seeing her dwarfed so completely by leather that carries his scent. That is not what she needs right now.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"That girl is made of titanium, Edward. And I don't mean that she's physically durable, which she is surprisingly so - I mean that she has the mental fortitude of Fort Knox. Don't you forget that."

"Rosalie…"

"She's a good match for you."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

After - well, Edward had learned by now to not form expectations to how Bella Swan would behave. She is clearly affected by what happened, a fact that he only knows because of his frequent nightly runs in the forest near her house that leads him to believe that her sleep has been less than stellar, but she is not letting it get to her.

Titanium might not be a strong enough alloy to describe her strength.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

At Alice's insistence, they have all dressed up for this Halloween Dance. Edward is going as James Dean. He isn't sure that Bella has dressed in costume specifically, but he won't deny that the little black dress clinging to her figure and the thick line of dark kohl around her eyes has made her especially alluring. She is, of course, reading a book and he has to shake his head as he approaches her where she has taken residence in a deserted corner of the gymnasium. "Dracula? Is that supposed to mean something?"

"Do you think it means something?"

"You have a morbid sense of humor," he decides once he catches sight of the fake fangs she has attached to her teeth and the thin line of red she has made drip from either side of her lush mouth. She's dressed as _a vampire_. How charming. "The book wasn't enough?"

"Me? Please," she scoffs. "Honestly, my great-uncle is really the twisted one. Huge fan of Poe."

He smiles at her good humor, holding out his hand. "Would you care to dance? I'm led to believe that is the expected behavior at these events."

"I don't dance," she laughs. "Sorry, but no thanks."

"That's fine. Would you care to take a walk instead?"

 _Please say yes_.

"A walk sounds nice," she smiles, releasing her lip from the indecisive bite of her teeth. She allows him to guide her outside by the small of her back and he valiantly ignores the gut-deep thrill at the implicit permission. "How old are you?"

"Seventeen," he answers promptly.

"And how long have you been seventeen?"

He hesitates. "I was turned during the height of Spanish Influenza in 1918. Does that frighten you?"

"No. Should it?"

Most people would be frightened. Not Bella Swan.

"I suppose not," he concedes. "Although, I continue to underestimate you. Nothing seems to frighten you for too long."

She smiles at that, accepting his proffered elbow as they meander around the field a few times, exchanging small bits of details and witty quips and generally enjoying each other's presence. It's remarkably soothing to Edward. He imagines he could spend hours and hours - years - a millennia - simply _talking_ to her-

 _Isabella…_

Edward stops cold, eyes sharp as he scans the forest - looking for the face to attach to that ghostly thought, but whoever it is has removed themselves from his range. He shakes his head at the inquisitive look Bella directs to him. "It was nothing. I just thought I heard someone say your name."

Bella frowns, pressing closer to his side. "Then why don't you look convinced?"

Edward drops his voice to below a whisper, leaning toward her enough to skim her temple with his nose, relishing in the soothing flavor of her scent. "It sounded like a vampire…and it sounded like she knew you."

(If only he had known then.)

* * *

 **A/N: Part one of the outtake request for Auntie Kim, who was such a huge part of keeping my sanity in writing this rollercoaster, dragging me through my stressing, freaked-out moments with such dignity that this beast of an outtake - all four parts of it, which will be continued in the next three outtakes - simply must be dedicated to her.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	28. the outtakes: memory (part two)

**the outtakes**

 **memory**

 **(part two)**

* * *

 **Yesterday's just a memory, tomorrow is never what it's supposed to be.**

 **\- Bob Dylan**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **NOVEMBER**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

"I know something you don't know," Alice sing-songs as she dances into his bedroom that is auspiciously and decidedly lacking an actual _bed_. It wasn't as if he had any use for one. He did, however, have use for a rather comfortable black leather couch, which is where Alice decides to daintily perch herself, positively vibrating with contained energy - or contained secrets, as it were.

Edward sighs, casting his eyes heaven word. Was it a good thing that Alice was particularly skilled in filling her mind with senseless drabble to keep him out of her thoughts and thus able to keep secrets? Maybe. But it also led to situations like this where Alice had the advantage of information and was determined to swing it over his head, as if he is a rabbit and she is holding the carrot.

Infuriating, manic, psychic pixie.

"And what is it that you think you know?"

Alice smiles enigmatically.

"Am I supposed to guess?" he asks warily.

"I'm hoping you will."

"You know I hate this game. Why can't you just tell me?"

"Trust me, it's more fun this way."

No, Alice, it's really not.

He heaves a sigh, dropping his head to rest against the back of the couch. "Alright. Does it have to do with the family?"

"Warm."

"Has Emmett decided to plan another ill-advised hunting tournament?"

 _It was not ill-advised and you're just bitter that you lost, Eddie-boy!_

"Colder."

He eyes Alice speculatively. "Am I somehow directly involved?"

"Warmer," she grins.

Unconsciously, he sits up straight, hyperfocused, all traces of bad humor gone. "It's about Bella," he says, a swoop in his stomach immediately following the mere mention of her name. When Alice nods excitedly, Edward can only take a breath, unable to escape the feeling that he is about to dive head-first off a high cliff - the anticipation is so great. "Has she - I mean - is it that she's decided to accept - well, to pursue -"

"You're totally going to be mates!" Alice squeals, jumping up to shimmy around the room with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. "The future has cleared up - it's like _crystal_ , Edward, and that girl has unmistakably made the choice to _be with you_! No going back! I can't see any other alternatives!"

(If it were possible, he's certain that his cheeks would hurt with the force of his prolonged, elated smile.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Unceremoniously, _The Peninsula_ _Daily News_ has been shoved against his chest by his rather irate human mate, who after proclaiming that the men who had attacked her were _dead_ had stared at him - and his siblings - with clear, uncompromised accusation. She thinks they have killed these men, taken them out of the fair vengeance of the human justice system and exacted the type of revenge that was admittedly most appropriate for _those_ kind of monsters.

And her assumption might be right were she to judge guilt by Rosalie's satisfaction at hearing this news. However -

"Bella, this wasn't us," he says beseechingly, a quiet plea for her to understand, to calm down and listen to him-

"You're _vampires_ ," she whispers waspishly. "And those guys were _drained of blood_."

Yes, that did seem highly suspect, did it not? In fact, even to his keen eye, the news article does scream blatantly of supernatural death - especially in the circumstances around the leader of that awful night, the serial-rapist named Lonnie, whose throat had been ripped clean open, the arterial vein sliced so precisely that it isn't at all difficult for Edward to imagine that these deaths had been caused by vampires. Clever girl had read the signs just right - but she was pointing her finger in the wrong direction.

Edward allows the newspaper to fall to the ground as he places ever-gentle hands on the top of her diminutive shoulders, bending his knees and stooping just low enough that they are nearly the same height. She does not flinch, but nor does she seem to graciously welcome his touch. If anything, she seems to be studying him _very_ carefully. And for that reason, he does his best to ensure that his voice is as non-threatening as possible. "We don't drink human blood. Bella, please. Believe me."

Her lips tremble as she petitions, "If not you, then _who_? Edward, who would have done this?"

Who, indeed?

Off the top of his head, he can only think of one suspect - as after all, running into strange vampires wasn't _exactly_ common in established territories and the Cullens ran enough patrols in the surrounding square hundred miles that they would have caught wind if _a different_ vampire had been in the area. "The one who called your name," he suggests carefully, much to the grief of his siblings. If there _is_ a vampire out there who is aware of Bella _and_ running around killing humans - even humans who deserved it - then that was something of a major issue that they would all need to talk about later. And if they would be talking about it, then it only stood to reason that Bella would be involved in the discussion; and if Bella were involved, then she couldn't afford to be in the dark about _anything_. "There is so much that you need to know. Have lunch with us."

She agrees - much to his fervent relief - and then she does something he does not expect. She initiates skin contact and as the first time she has truly _touched_ him since that terrible night in Port Angeles and it is like _everything_ he's ever wanted -

(And now she knows everything, all the secrets that he - that the family - has ever kept. How they were turned. What life as a vampire is like. Their abilities -

And of course, she doesn't care that she's being hunted by a vampire savvy enough to stay out of his mental range, which meant that whoever this female vampire was, she _knew_ about the Cullens, about Edward in particular, and that didn't bode well for his ability to keep her safe -

"Bella, you're in _danger_ ," he says incredulously.

"Am I really, though? Even if she comes closes, I'm not completely helpless," she replies, pointedly wiggling her fingers.

And that is - that is something that he will have to learn to reconcile. That this girl may be his mate, but she is not nearly half as helpless as her bird-bone lightness would indicate, that she is not the simpering incarnation of the girls who he might have courted when he was human, that she is _modern_ and _smart_ and not to be trifled with…)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

It is by _accident_ \- ill-fated accident, in fact - that she catches sight of him perched outside of her bedroom window, guarding her with a steadfast ear to the forest around him, all of his senses stretched on a taut wire. It is a peculiar kind of test to his control of the budding lust that has woken in him for the first time in a hundred years, to listen to her patter through her evening routine, to catch the muted whiff of the steamy intensity of her shampoo and soap, to catch a glimpse of the rounded curve of her shoulder joint as her cotton nightdress - more shirt than dress, actually, and distressingly thin - slips wide around her slender neck -

As she is massaging lotion onto her hands and elbows, she stops in front of the window and stops rather abruptly, expression vacillating between shock and mortification and irritation before settling into a sort of wry amusement. Never dropping her gaze from his, she opens the window and whispers, "Do we need to have a conversation about stalking?"

He swallows. He's been caught. He knows that he's doing something - well, strange at best and outright criminal at worst and she is so unpredictable that he can't rightly decide if she will be angered by his gall, or if she will understand his motivations -

She sighs and the wind catches her scent, carrying it to him so that venom can well richly behind his teeth. "I can tell that I won't be talking you out of this," she mutters finally.

He can only shake his head. Anything else and he might not retain the willpower to stay in this godforsaken tree.

"Go home if it starts raining," she commands - and then blithely closes her window, finishes her nightly routine, and settles in for sleep -

And he can only gape for a long while, torn between relief and disbelief that she would so readily accept his presence watching over her while she slept.

(It will not be the last time that he is granted this permission.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

If there is one remnant of his human life that he has kept close to his being for the entirety of his new vampiric life - if there is a single memory that does not taunt him with the bitter rinds that followed him from dying of the Spanish Influenza and into this eternal night - it is his love of winter. As a vampire, the icy chill of the shortest days of the year is not something that affects him; he does not feel the nip of frost on his toes through his boots and woolen socks; he does not shiver at the bite of snow blanketing his skin; he barely even registers that the ambient temperature is for once colder than himself. But even as a human, he had been enthralled by winter, by the promise of the jolly holiday season and the tease of snowy days that kept him from school and instead in his father's study or at his mother's skirts. And as a native of Chicago, winter had always been a brutal, hard-ridden time - yet it still did not matter. Not to Edward Masen.

And not to Edward Cullen.

The day dawns with a thin glancing of early frost coating the grass, the trees, the road. Miniscule icicles dangle from the edges of building, small like pearls and catching the dawning sun behind the thick cloudcover with a mercury sheen. It is not thick snow, certainly not the kind of snow that would stay for longer than a day as the warmer crust of the Earth fought tenaciously against the oncoming winter - and indeed it does melt overnight, leaving a glistening layer of ice in its wake.

Edward is content - until he is not.

As has become routine, he arrives to Forks High well before his mate, who still walks to school by the virtue that he is leery of proposing he drive her each day - even he is not obtuse enough as to assume that would not be a slight to her independence, and so he stays his tongue. She seems to enjoy walking, anyway, and sticks to a very specific routine.

He sees her first. He'd been looking, of course, and she is - predictably - taking an unfettered pace toward the school, thermos in one hand and book in the other. Her nose and cheeks are pink from the chill as she weaves through rows of cars rather than braving the sidewalk and the vigorous snowball fight that was still being waged from the previous day.

"You should probably blink," Rosalie says dryly.

He shoots his sister a droll look, taking her meaning with a healthy grain of salt - but she is right. He forgets himself when he looks at Bella, forgets that he needs to be playing a part, not just for himself but for the entire family. Bella is all-consuming, though. He can hardly be blamed -

And then two things happen that, had Edward possessed a heart that was actually functioning rather than perpetually frozen, it is conceivable said heart would have seized painfully inside the cavern of his chest - a pure, utterly unadulterated sense of dread.

Bella Swan drops her book, _As I Lay Dying_ -

(Horribly, horribly ironic.)

\- and not a moment later, tires skid across a blank of black ice, thin, uncooperative metal breaks squealing and shrieking ineffectually as the driver - one of the Crowley boys - promptly and catastrophically loses control of the car that is headed _right toward her_ -

Bella freezes for the barest second, and then the deep, flecked, sharp moss of her eyes rise to look at Edward -

Alice's mind is spinning, cycling, circling over vision over vision - past and present and future all blurring into one barely comprehensible mass of -

 _Bella Swan, laid out perfectly on the icy concrete, book still in hand and…her chest still -_

 _Edward, inconsolable, taking himself to the Volturi for some kind of absolution -_

Dead. She would _die_ -

But only if he let it happen -

And by _God_ he would _not let that happen_.

Bella closes her eyes. She does not squeeze them shut in terror and she does not turn her head. She simply closes her eyes, as if she were about to go to sleep, and before Edward even realizes he's moving - quite the feat for a vampire, who is always, always aware of his movements, even before they happen - he has crossed the width of parking lot that divides them, intent on exactly _one_ heart -

Vaguely, he registers that Emmett has lunged after him, but this fact is swiftly blocked out in favor of pushing his body forward faster than he had ever dared before -

He cages his arms around his too-fragile, too-human mate, twisting to the side and launching them both as far away as possible; they crash against the concrete, Edward's shoulder digging into ice and newly-created gravel and then indenting a tan car that braced his sudden stop, just a hair of a second before broken glass shatters around them - courtesy of Emmett bodily stopping the SUV in its tracks before bounding away -

Bella's forehead smashes against the unforgiving firmness of his chest -

He is growling, inhaling deeply, searching for injuries that he cannot find - though that does little to sooth the raging instincts ticking in the back of his head -

He hardly notices that Bella is touching him, a single palm pressed to the base of his neck -

Because for the first time - perhaps because it had taken this atrocious event to realize it - he is not piqued by thirst for her blood. Just the inescapable relief, just the simmering protective rage, just the knowledge that he had gotten there on time -

 _Isabella is safe_ …

(It is not his thought, nor is it the thought of any of his family, nor is it Bella thinking of herself in third-person. It is the female vampire, a witness to his blatant disregard for the law of the Volturi that values secrecy above all else -)

"Edward."

He growls, something of a grunt of acknowledgement, but he is shamefully inarticulate at the moment - and yet, he cannot see how he could be anything _but_ inarticulate given the fact that his mate had nearly -

"I'm fine. But you need to calm down if you're going to be seen here," she says gently, an unmistakable edge of order in her voice that gives him enough clarity of thought to realize that she is right. And to realize that she is no longer touching his skin, though she has not shied away from his embrace.

He gives himself another moment, forcefully calling his mind to order, and then he stands them both up, steadying Bella with a hand pressed to her lower back, hunching protectively around her - even in the face of EMTs or the arrival of a very frantic Chief Swan -

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"The future is still the same, Edward."

He takes that to mean that Bella's brush with near-death had not come to the attention of the Volturi. Yet.

 _Edward. Is she going to be okay_?

His head snaps up, catching Rosalie's gaze in the rear-view mirror rather than Alice's. He hesitates, somewhat shocked that Rosalie _cared_ , and then nods.

"Well, I don't know about anyone else," Emmett says with a grin. "But that's just about the most fun I've had in a long while!"

Jasper drags his hand down his face. "For the love of Christ, Emmett."

"What? What did I say?"

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Edward has _intentions_. Well, one intention, really, but he's decided that it would be prudent if he were to make Chief Swan aware of said intentions before Edward took any further steps - because while it is not necessarily tradition anymore, he still believes that the father deserves some modicum of respect in being made aware that a daughter's hand is being sought -

He will not admit it to anyone - not if he can help it - but he is somewhat nervous as he stands on the front porch of the Swan household, plucking courage from a deep-set reserve as he knocks politely, three raps of mindful strength against wood.

And God must truly despise him because it is _Bella_ that answers the door and she is sleep-ruffled, cheeks stained pink from the flush of sleep, her hair curling messily around her shoulders. Her feet look so small in the cable-knit slippers she has shoved them into and her nightwear is an instant threat to his self-control.

Still, he smiles widely, closed-lipped to keep the lusty venom trapped behind his molars, and says, "Good morning."

It takes a moment for her to register that it's _him_ at the door and when she does, her reaction is nothing short of adorable. Bella starts, then modestly takes a half-step so that she is partially hidden by the door. Her eyes are wide, brighter in the morning than at any other time, the viridian moss flecked with glowing gold. "What are you doing here?" she demands, hushed and two shades short of scandalized.

God, but he wants to kiss her. Devour her.

"I've come to speak with your father," he says instead.

"At six in the morning?"

"It's very important."

Her brows arch high, lips pressing together in a contemplative pucker -

"Cullen?" Chief Swan asks from behind her, scooting her away from the doorway with a gruffly gentle hand. "Boy, what on Earth are you doing here so damn early?"

Chief Swan is arguably a very imposing man - tall, strapped with muscles, dark hair dusted with silver, and eyes that glint with a steely determination, their shade just a touch darker than his daughter's. Edward cannot truly decide if Chief Swan seems intimidating because he _is_ intimidating, or if Edward is intimidated because he is guilty of fantasizing about the Chief's daughter and a part of him is irrationally certain that the Chief _knows_. He's glad he's not human, else a hot flush would have betrayed him. And as it is, he's never had a clear read on the Chief - Charlie Swan has a mind that is half white-noise, and half impressionistic images.

Edward musters his courage again. "Sorry, Chief, but I felt it imperative to talk to you before you went to work."

"Imperative, huh?" Charlie crosses his arms, speculative, and then steps back from the door. "Well, come on in. We'll…talk while Bella gets ready."

Edward conscientiously keeps his eyes trained on the Chief while Bella darts upstairs, although he very much wants to watch the play of her leg muscles, the way her skin stretches over her thighs and ankles -

"I would like your permission to date your daughter," Edward says plainly, downright pleased that he'd said _date_ instead of _court_. He should have brought flowers, or something. Hands empty, it's all he can do to stop himself from fidgeting as he clasps his hands behind his back, standing as tall and confident as he can -

"She is _fifteen_."

"Yes."

"She's mature, though," Charlie concedes.

"I agree," Edward nods tightly.

Charlie eyes him skeptically. "Alright, Cullen. You've got my permission on a probationary basis. There are _rules_. She has a curfew. No taking her out more than once a weekend. If she doesn't want to see you anymore, you listen. If I find out you pressure her in any way, you better run, because there isn't any place you can hide where I won't find you. Are we clear?"

"Crystal, Chief."

"Good," says the Chief. And then, when he notices that Edward has not moved, he sighs heavily, closing his eyes as if wishing for patience. "Cullen, is there anything else you wanted to talk about or are you just aiming to take up space in my kitchen?"

"I would like to drive Bella to school and back," Edward replies instantly, leaping upon the opportunity before he can talk himself out of it.

Charlie grunts, one side of his mouth ticking upward beneath the bristles of his mustache. "Fine by me. She doesn't need to be walking in this weather, anyway. Good luck convincing _her_ , though. Stubborn as a mule, that one."

"It's one of her more admirable qualities," he smiles warmly.

And at that, he hears a very distinct thought from Chief Swan -

 _Damn boy is smitten_.

Yes, Chief, that would be correct.

"Get the stars out of your eyes, Cullen," Charlie returns glibly, then claps Edward on the shoulder, unbothered by the stone beneath his hand. "Take care of my girl."

"I intend to."

He will keep this vow.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"You know, Edward, I didn't think you had it in you."

"Thanks, Emmett. I think."

"Now, I'm sure you know what you're supposed to do now, don't you?"

"Of course."

"Just remember that her pleasure always comes first -"

" _Emmett!_ "

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"Where are you taking me?" Bella asks as he turns the Volvo onto the seldom-used back road right off the 101. She's indulging him, he knows, because by now they are both aware that all it would take was a brush of her fingers over any of his skin and the surprise would be ruined. That she is letting him have his fun is intensely exciting.

He's having a difficult time suppressing his enthusiasm, especially as he declares, "I'm answering a question you once asked."

Her palms slap against her thighs, quickly followed by a sigh of exasperation. "By kidnapping me? Honestly."

"It's easier to show you," he grins.

And it is - because there is no adequate way to describe why vampires should stay out of direct sunlight and even having witnessed the reaction of his skin to UV rays for the last hundred years, his mind still rebels at the image. He doesn't think a human would fare too well in trying to conjure a mental image that was in any way accurate, which left Edward the only option of showing rather than telling. It was fine; it was better, even, because _now_ he had the opportunity to really show off.

He pulls onto the side of the road right and blurs to her side of the car, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he waits for her to untangle herself from the seat belt. Then, he kneels so that she can crawl onto his back, her human warmth searing into his skin; she's careful as she locks her arms around his shoulders that their skin never _truly_ touches.

He takes a deep breath. "Hold on tight."

"What-"

In all honesty, Edward had expected her to scream.

But because she is _Bella_ , she does little else by laugh and urge him to run faster, clutching him tight enough that had he been human, he surely would have passed out from lack of oxygen. He isn't human, though, as evidenced by the speed at which he runs, the world around him in perfect detail -

He is sharing this with her, this joy, this elation, and she is returning it in kind.

Edward skids to a gentle stop at the meadow, a round clearing of yellowing grass and autumnal leaves. Bella slips off his back, then spins around in a circle, almost dancing away from him in an Alice-like fashion with her arms spread wide and her eyes closed. He stays in the dense shadows of the forest until the sun finally breaks through the clouds, bright and cool and enough of a change that Bella's eyes snap open, unerringly locating him.

He steps forward -

"This is why," she breathes, breaking their staring contest with conscious effort.

"Yes. It's a bit difficult to hide."

She rolls her eyes, then beckons him forward so that he might divest more of his secrets to her - she sits where she stands, fiddling with the white scarf stacked beneath her shin, bracketed by his leather jacket that he had never requested she return - and he can do little else but lounge beside her, propped on his elbows. He does not blink. He does not want to miss this moment or risk remembering it differently.

Bella is so beautiful - so _his_ , cloaked in his scent, bathed in the shimmering reflection of his skin, willing to place her safety into his care, and her time with his own -

"Tell me about that day. Why did you attack me?" she requests simply.

Well. He wasn't expecting _that_.

Edward drops onto his back, a sigh punched out of his lungs as he stares up at her. He can't help but to marvel once again at the vision she presents - though this time, he will admit that his urge to do so is motivated by the fear that once she learns about _why_ he'd behaved to atrociously the day they met she will leave and he will be bereft - having loved and lost and -

"Isabella Swan," he murmurs thoughtfully, reaching a hand toward her, stopping just shy of brushing her cheek, though he very much wants to and it is nearly painful to refrain from doing so. "I had so many warring instincts that day. Your blood was singing to me at the same time your soul was drawing me closer - and I didn't know, couldn't know, whether I wanted to bite you so I could kill you or bite you so I could keep you. You are a drug to me in so many different ways, Bella. My own personal brand of heroine. My drug of choice….And I cannot imagine how I could continue to live without you."

Distressingly, she does not respond to this directly. Instead she says, "I want to try something. Don't move."

Automatically, without thought or heed, Edward honors her request, holding utterly still. He does not dare to even breath, especially as she leans forward and traces a single finger over the contours of his face. Her touch is like a brand, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Brow, nose, cheekbones. A tug on his hair -

And then he becomes aware of her mind - of the presence of her mind glidingly so seamlessly alongside his own. He does not have the wherewithal or the inclination to even attempt to push her mind away, and so he leaves it open as he always has and he allows her to traipse through, battering at his every thought with all the softness of a butterfly's wings. Each question she pushes toward him is answered immediately; each touch of her skin upon his own is returned with a memory of _her_ , of how he sees her and nothing but her. Only ever Bella.

The thought slips through, from his mind to hers - _mate_.

Her questing fingers pause at his lips, which part beneath the gossamer pressure of her touch.

 _Mate_ , she ponders - and the answer is there, a wellspring of information that blooms and is plucked accordingly - what it means for her and for him and for them - and then her lily-soft palm is curling around his jaw, angling his chin even as her mind sings, _Yes_.

Their lips meet, just a brush of chastity, the air from her sweet lungs absorbed into his. And then the kiss explodes into a breathless joining, her hands twisting deep into his hair, their chests pressed together so achingly tight, his hand learning to seductive curve of the dip of her spine. His skin feels hot and too tight and she has broken away from their kiss, breathing raggedly but not pulling away, and his lips cannot help but follow the graceful line of her throat, tasting her flesh much to the joint pain-pleasure of the venom itching at his gums -

 _Isabella_.

It is not his thought.

In the space of one heartbeat, his eyes snap open and he has twisted them until he is hovering, crouched protectively over her human-fragile body even as his mind strains forward -

And then her mind is joined again with his, her palm against his throat, following the ferocious, instinctive rage that has grasped him until, yes, until it becomes apparent that they are being watched - that _she_ is being watched -

The vampire's name is Mele.

And she knows far too much about Edward's mate.

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **DECEMBER**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

The scene is decidedly domestic but he is pleased. While Edward balances on a ladder, playing human with his speed and reach and how much he can lug up onto the roof each trip, Bella directs from down below, cradling a thermos of over-strong coffee in her mittens and smiling widely.

If his heart still beat, he's certain it would be thumping painfully.

God, but he loves her.

And she loves him - though neither have said it aloud, yet. They don't need to, not with the connection of their minds, not with the open-door policy of honesty that crests so smoothly between them each time they touch. She is his mate and he is hers. They belong to each other. And they had forever. This Christmas, this scene of domesticality, it would only be the first of many -

"Up on the left," she instructs in a low murmur.

He hastens to follow what is by most standards an inane instruction. They are both playing a part, after all, and it seems that Bella is content to tease him. They both know that the wreath was already perfectly positioned.

"Like this?" he calls down.

Her eyes gleam. "Now up on the other side," she says. "Still doesn't look right."

He smirks. "Is that so?"

"Maybe it needs to go higher."

He laughs outright at her mischievousness. "Maybe we need a second opinion," he retorts, dropping his arms and looking down the street where Chief Swan's cruiser is approaching the house.

Charlie Swan snorts at the scene that greets him, his mind a kaleidoscope of indistinct images that seem like memories tinged with regret -

"He's a good boy, huh?"

"Yes, he is," Bella declares proudly.

(For her, Edward would always strive to be the best. Still, it's nice to know that she already holds him in such high esteem…)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"So, she's already got you whipped, huh? I mean - _ouch!_ Rosie!"

"Behave, Emmett."

"I was just -"

"Tryin' to get your ass kicked, son, that's what you were tryin' to do."

"Et tu, Jazz-man?"

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Sometimes, he wishes that he could just _push_ into the minds around him, but that wasn't the gift he'd been given. Edward can read surface thoughts - well, not _thoughts_ specifically because not very many people think in _words_ and when they do, it's a fleeting sense of focus that is squandered in the babbling flow of images, sensations, intentions, and to some extent emotions. It's worse with vampires. More intense. Louder in general.

Bella is different. Her mind is - dynamic. Unless she is touching him, her mind is absolutely silent, and when she does touch him, she manages to exert such _control_ over what he receives, like she can cherry-pick her thoughts and memories with little to no effort at all. And he's come to find that _she_ is not limited to surface thoughts. If she wants to, she can delve right into deep-seated memories - she can even touch places in his mind that he's never had the sense to look for. And the way she _sees_ his mind, like it's a vast cavern of crystalline stalagmites shrouded in the very beginnings of an on-coming storm - she thinks his mind is chaotic, and he supposes that it _is_ chaotic to her because he is constantly filtering the rest of the world and that surely does seem like the epitome of chaos. But she doesn't shy away from touching him.

And when she does touch him - the rest of the world is muted, not gone completely, but like he is listening to music underwater instead of having his ear pressed directly against a blaring speaker.

(That is odd, isn't it? That a _human_ should have such a developed gift…)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(He's old enough - now - that he should have learned how to see the writing on the wall.

But sometimes, even Edward is surprised by his willful ignorance.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Edward starts at the loud crashing that comes from Bella's room - a sort of tumbling rumble, a rabble of heavy _thunks_ and fluttering pages. Her disbelieving _"Unbelievable_ " that alerts him that she's had a mishap and he tilts his head to the side, trying to decide if he should investigate or maintain his distance - and sanity - by staying in this wonderfully accommodating tree that is decidedly not a threat to his ever-fragile self-control -

Bella opens the window, a frown slanted across her face, her brow puckered in annoyance. "Edward. Can you help me?"

He hesitates.

Because _by God -_

She's in a bathrobe. Just a scrap of cotton that hides the delectable curves of her body and that reveals the wondrous marvel of her silhouette as it catches in the pale glow of lamplight. His tongue might as well be stuck to the roof of his mouth for all the good it does in aiding his answer, which at the moment is a definite _no_. No, no, no. If he goes in there when he can clearly see the beguiling edge of her clavicle - and the jugular vein running right across it - then it's possible that any virtue she might claim would be in tatters by the morning -

Bella looks down, as if it is only _now_ dawning on her that she's not exactly dressed for company. She blushes. "I really do need your help," she pleads, a tone of mortification ripe in her voice. "My bookshelf is very slowly disintegrating before my eyes and I'd really rather not just leave the mess until the morning. If you could just put that vampiric strength to good use…"

 _God help him_ but he cannot refuse this girl.

Edward abandons his tree. What other option does he have, honestly? His mate is _asking for him_ -

Easy as breathing, Edward levers himself over the edge of her window sill, not daring to look away from her eyes. He definitely doesn't breathe - the saturation of her scent in this room is obvious even from his outdoor perch and he cannot imagine how strong, how enticing it might be when he is this close -

She clears her throat. "I'll just go change."

Yes. Probably a very good idea, Bella.

By the time she emerges from the bathroom clad in black leggings and a soft sweater, he has regained some margin of self-discipline back and is able to do her bidding. The situation with her bookshelf is something of a head-scratcher. He's never seen a solid shelf simply _collapse_ , as if giving up beneath the burden of books; but then again, Bella _does_ have an awful lot of books and the bookshelf before its demise seems to have been both old and narrow and it isn't difficult at all for him to imagine that her voracious literary appetite might have simply overwhelmed the furniture. He zips through the quiet house, disposing of the broken bookshelf near the outdoor bins, and then returns to her side, idly chatting about making up some story for her father to believe -

Salt.

Edward's head whips up from where he'd been scouring the floor for splinters. Bella is crying. His hand presses gently over the top of her shoulder, peering over her shoulder at the letter clutched in her dainty fingers as she sniffles and explains the cause for her emotional distress -

And then Bella says something _odd_.

"…Great Uncle Aro hasn't written me back in a while…"

Aro.

 _Aro_.

It couldn't be - it wasn't possible - it -

"Did you say Aro?" he breathes in shock.

"Yes, I did," Bella confirms with a furrow of her brow. "It's a perfectly common name, isn't it?"

A low growl begins to build in his chest. "Not in my world," he denies -

Because there is only one Aro that Edward knows of and that is Aro of the Volturi, one of the Three Kings that ruled the vampire world - or at least held some sort of police-state dictatorship over whatever vampires they were aware of -

Bella shakes her head. "What do you mean _your_ world?"

"Could you show me these letters?" He asks, just shy of a demand; then at her hesitation, he makes an effort to soften the harsh edge that had crept into his voice. "I just - I need to be sure, Bella. Please let me see these letters."

"Alright," she agrees. And then she steps just to the side of her desk, scooting a glossy wooden box forward, lifting the lid, and waving a painfully familiar wax seal before him.

He's almost certain that she's continued speaking, but his head is filled with white noise. Carefully, he traces another of the Volturi seals that are etched into the face of the wooden box, caught completely by disbelief. "The seal…even the box is emblazoned with it…Bella, do you have anything else from Aro?"

She responds to his urgency with little delay, a fact for which he is thankful. Edward thinks he must be on the verge of a panic attack. Could vampires have those? Edward was - the room spinning around him as she shows him a book, and then a pair of earrings - and yes. There it is. Another seal carved right into the ruby, faint enough for vampire eyes to detect -

"You've been marked by them," he snarls, pulling at his hair as he paces around her room. "Claimed by the Volturi - but why?"

He doesn't expect Bella to know; the question is purely rhetorical because Edward knows there's only _one_ reason that the Volturi would bother with a human and - well, hadn't he thought that her gift was remarkably developed? He knows that the Volturi have a history of tracking down gifted humans to add to their guard, but they must have known about Bella for quite some time - she's still so young, after all. And - and if Eleazar is retired, then they must have a different vampire who can do a similar -

The vampire - Mele, the one that's been stalking Bella. Of course. _Of course_.

God. No.

Bella reaches for him, a hand to the center of his chest so that he must stop his agitated movements. "Hey," she soothes. "What are you talking about? What's the Volturi?"

How can she _not know_?

Edward inhales deeply, then gathers Bella into his arms, letting the feel of her body pressed against his sooth the raging beast threatening to unleash itself. "We need to speak with Carlisle - now."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(And then the terrible, shocking, wondrous news unfolds like a symphonic overture.

It all makes sense - retrospectively, it's obvious that they've all been overlooking some pretty damning evidence. Like the way that Chief Swan has aged so well. Bella's preferred bloody meals. Her durability. That _gift_. Even her intellect -

God, but also the way she has returned his declaration of them being _mates_ -

Bella is not wholly human.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

There is _no time_ to absorb this truth for what it is, because nearly as soon as the revelation has settled uncomfortably thick with implications in the living room of the Cullen house, Edward is baring his teeth at the trio of minds that are racing unerringly in their direction -

Two of those three minds occluded nearly as well as Alice and the last belonging to -

The family move into formation, all intent on guarding the most vulnerable member of their coven, but even without Alice's visions spin-cycling so quickly, Edward already knows how this will play out -

God.

"Ah, Carlisle, my dear old friend," says Aro from the doorway, his mind racing with calculations and glee and elation at Bella's scent among vampires that happened to be allies. His mind is nearly affectionate. Edward leashes his snarl as Bella stands, her heart beating loudly as Aro continues. "Might you allow into your fine home? Sulpicia and I have gone through terrible trouble to arrive so covertly. It would be a shame if our secrecy was compromised."

"Of course," Carlisle answers courteously. "Please, do come inside."

The first vampire to enter is Mele - and Edward does not care for anything except for the flare of maternal warmth this vampire feels for Bella - and then he is directing his mind elsewhere. To more important matters. To more important vampires.

Sulpicia, wrought with emotion that filters through the cloak of her mind -

And Aro, the cunning and ambitious, throttling with anticipation and memories. Bella has his eyes; or rather, the eyes Aro had when he'd been human. It's both awful and terrifying and all Edward wants to do is whisk her away, as far away as he can possibly take her, because Aro had _designs_ in the works -

"It's true," Bella breathes, moving away from Edward at a glacial pace and he is struck frozen because Aro is meeting her halfway, both of their palms outstretched -

Bella has Aro's gift.

(And it is not an accident. None of this happened by accident.)

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **JANUARY**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

(For good reason, he is decidedly leery of Aro and Sulpicia. He can read their minds, after all, at least when they aren't consciously occluding from him -

And Sulpicia's thoughts are…Well. He imagines that Sulpicia's mind is what Rosalie's will become, which is terrifying because Sulpicia is… _driven_. That is the kindest word Edward can think of -

Aro is another level entirely. His mind is a _maze_ , layered with twists and turns and stuffed full of a million, a billion memories from other people that he has absorbed and never forgotten and it is for _that_ reason that Edward does not buy the whimsy that Aro tries to sell -

No, Edward has been mistaken all these years. He is damned to eternity, yes, but he is not a true vampire.

Not the way the Volturi are.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

"So, you are who my precious granddaughter has attached herself to," Aro says with a slanted smile, blithely broadcasting how underwhelmed he is by Edward in general and more specifically the prospect that Edward's diet would somehow influence Bella - make her weaker - detract from her _potential_ -

"Yes," Edward replies simply, locking his eyes forward and maintaining a stone façade. Acting like he has never acted before out of necessity. He can't help but think that he is not performing as well as he needs to.

Aro sniffs. "A _musician_."

Edward bristles.

"A vegetarian."

Edward breathes slowly.

" _A telepath_ , though," Aro muses. "How interesting that she should choose another telepath. Such opportunity."

Edward says nothing. He knows no response is actually needed - or wanted.

"I assume you are able to guess what your fate might be should you ever hurt my Isabella, or allow her to be harmed by another?"

Edward nods tightly, but he does not flinch from the bloodthirsty glint in Aro's eyes, or by the _vivid_ explanations that Aro provides with his rather descriptive mental commentary -

Aro smiles, all teeth. "I'm glad we understand each other."

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Edward will be honest: he is not sad to see Aro and Sulpicia and Mele leave as January hits the middle stride. It is a relief to see their backs, to know that their gnarling, vicious, mercurial minds will be far, far away from his own. Perhaps that makes Edward a coward, but he would challenge any telepath chained to surface thoughts to view these visitors as any sort of positive rather than the enduring, astounding, challenging torture that they are -

Alice understands. Jasper, too.

And yet, Bella mourns that they are leaving back to Volterra. She has _touched_ them, she has _read_ them, she _knows_ what they are - and it does not bother her. Instead, Bella is disturbed by the lack of their presence. She cries in his arms as he holds her at the end of the driveway after the Volturi King, Queen, and Associate have left. He kisses her forehead and allows her to bask in his mind and he tries to understand how she could possibly be so unbothered by how openly blithe and cruel her relatives are -

He cannot understand, though. It is unfathomable to him, but as it is not unfathomable to _her_ , he must do his duty as her mate and comfort her as best as possible - to push past his own reservations for the benefit of another -

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(Ultimately, this is Edward's first clue that his mate is - how to put it - more _pragmatic_ than most.

Which, inevitably, leads to Bella's first excursions in accepting her birthright.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella has volunteered to be an ambassador of sorts with the fledgling Quileute pack in La Push, much to Edward's concern and consternation. But as she is less driven by politics than she is by a moral inclination to do what is _right -_ Edward bites his tongue and waits anxiously near the border with Alice, Jasper, and Emmett within earshot.

He's trained his full concentration onto watching the visions Alice is having - sharp images of Bella on the beach with human teenagers, of Bella talking to a little runt named Jacob, of Bella turning her attention to one Sam Uley -

The visions - _Bella_ \- disappears and in a split second, Edward's heart is wrenched in two -

He snarls, unhinged, and lunges for the boarder, caught at the last second by Emmett around his middle and thwarting Jasper's attempts to forcibly adjust his mood. He snaps his teeth at Alice as she frantically dials her phone -

On the other end of the line, the receiver _clicks_ and Alice gasps. "Oh, Bella! Are you okay?"

Edward freezes, breath stuttering, growls dying abruptly -

" _What? No, Alice, I'm fine. Why would you think otherwise_?"

He wilts at the sound of her voice - her perfect, unharmed voice. He can hear the thud of her heart, miniscule by the speaker, and the faint _whoosh_ of her lungs working just as they ought to -

"You disappeared," Alice explains. "Your entire future was just gone and Edward started to lose it. He was going to cross the treaty line - it's a good thing Emmett was here - but he's stopped now. He's listening to your breathing. It would be sweet if he hadn't just been psychotic…"

 _No shit_ , Emmett comments idly, his grip yet to slacken.

" _How could my future just vanish?_ " asks Bella.

"I don't know! But maybe you should just call this whole thing off," Alice suggests worridly. "I've felt strange about it since the very start and -"

" _Alice, I have to go_ ," Bella says abruptly. She hangs up -

And her future is still _blank_. It's still not there.

Alice turns wide eyes onto Edward and then says, "But _your_ future is okay - you're happy, not acting as if you've lost a mate -"

"She _is_ my mate," he snarls defensively.

"I know!" Alice snaps. "I'm just - what if it's, like, psychic interference or -"

Emmett snorts. "What, like you can't see werewolves, or something?"

Jasper tilts his head, while Alice and Edward exchange heavy looks. Leave it to Emmett to stumble upon the most obvious, most correct explanation -

"Reckon that's true," says Jasper, his tone impressed as he stares beyond the treaty line. "If you can't see the wolves, darlin', then I have to say that that girl is mighty fearless."

Or reckless. Because wasn't it reckless to walk into a situation blind?

If Edward were human, he's almost certain he would have an ulcer by now.

(But, he'd better get used to it where Bella is concerned.)

* * *

 **A/N: Second installment of Auntie Kim's outtake request. Hoping to finish the other two this week so I can wrap up these characters!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	29. the outtakes: memory (part three)

**memory**

 **(part three)**

* * *

 **Be careful who you make memories with. Those things can last a lifetime.**

 **\- Ugo Eze**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **FEBRUARY**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

Charlie Swan - Chief of Police and partial vampire - is a shrewd man and while Edward's read of his mind is slippery at best, it's been more than clear that Charlie has been building toward a particular attitude as soon as he realized that vampires exist, that his daughter is dating one, and that vampires mated for life. By the Chief's estimation, Bella and Edward's relationship had never been _casual_ and that, in turn, mean that it was _serious_. It was _going somewhere_.

Edward had made his intentions perfectly clear, he'd thought - but of course, it is the prerogative of fatherhood to put the fear of God into boyfriends - mates - of daughters. Aro had relished in it. And now, as Charlie steps into the kitchen only partially divested of his holster, it seems that it is time for Edward's _second_ shovel-talk.

"Son, I think it's about time you and I had a conversation," Charlie says.

Edward stands. No point in delaying the inevitable. He follows Charlie onto the front porch, mindful of his body language and doing his best to decipher the static-cling of Charlie's thoughts, which is easier said than done. Much to his amusement, Bella takes it upon herself to eavesdrop - rather poorly, he might add, as her weight creaks on floorboards and gives away her location - on the conversation.

Charlie levels him with a stoic stare. "If you hurt her, I will personally take a torch to that indestructible skin of yours and make you wish that you'd died human," Charlie threatens darkly. "My little girl might be special, but she's still mine and I'll be protecting her for as long as I can. And I think you know you've got more than me to be worried about when it comes to that girl, because I'd bet dollars to donuts that Aro would have you strung up sooner than she could shed a tear."

Edward is grateful for his strong constitution, as the mere mention of Aro in the context of this subject reminds him rather _vividly_ of all of Aro's silent threats which were unsurprisingly more graphic than Charlie's heavy-handed hints of violence.

He raises his chin, locking his jaw. "I see. I hope it isn't imprudent to say, but I was hoping that you understood my intentions to be fairly permanent, Chief."

"Yeah," Charlie grunts. "Mates, that's what you call it. A forever sort of thing, I'm told."

Edward clears his throat. "Ah, well, yes. That is certainly part of it. But I have my eye on a rather human tradition, if you catch my meaning."

"Boy, have you hit your head?"

"No, sir."

Charlie snorts incredulously. "For God's sake, do I really need to remind you that she's _fifteen_ still? Another half-year and I won't be able to do much to stop you, but if you've got a plan in mind, I'm telling you _no_ right now. She isn't ready. Hell, she might never be ready. Can you deal with that?"

"I assure you, Chief, when I do ask you for Bella's hand, it will be with the fullest confidence that she will answer the way I hope she will," he proclaims. "Until then, believe that I am as committed to Bella's happiness as you are."

"You're not a father," Charlie mutters. "Her happiness means something different to me than it does to you and you might never understand that."

"I might not," Edward agrees quietly. After all, full-fledged male vampires could apparently reproduce, but there was no indication - even from Alice - that _Bella_ would be able to carry any child to term, let alone fall pregnant to start with. For Carlisle, the idea of reproduction had been occupying his thoughts for weeks, a conundrum that must be puzzled out by explicit scientific standards. For Edward, it was a point of uncertainty. He wasn't even sure he _wanted_ to be a father, let alone be willing to risk Bella's continued health.

Perhaps it was a conundrum for himself, as well.

Charlie sighs after a moment, clapping his hand on Edward's shoulder. "You are a good kid. Couldn't have hoped for better, really, but it's my prerogative to give you a hard time when the mood strikes. You get that, Edmund?"

He laughs in relief. "Yes, sir."

(That went as well as any man could hope.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

For the first time in his life - even since his human years - Edward makes a _production_ out of Valentine's Day. He'd never seen the appeal until he had someone he wished to lavish attention upon. He enlists Alice's help in arranging the details, but he takes responsibility for thinking of the activities that he and his mate will experience together. A bookstore. A concert. A visit to the meadow -

And his mother's bracelet.

"I want to give you something," he murmurs, stroking the curve of her cheek under the starry night sky, enthralled by the way Bella leans into his touch. "After he turned me, while I was in the burning fever, Carlisle went back to the house of my parents and collected some things he thought I might want. I remember being so angry with him, livid at his audacity, at the intrusion into _my_ life…But when I came back from my rebellion, I was so grateful that he had the foresight. I cannot tell you how much of a comfort it was to have the pipe my father smoked, the jewelry my mother wore…"

Her heart flutters audibly as he presents the silvery bracelet, the moonlight catching on the dainty diamond heart.

"My frozen heart," he muses, looking at her from beneath his eyelashes.

Bella leans forward until her hand meets his chest. She shakes her head, tears in her eyes. "Never frozen," she whispers. "You are the embodiment of warmth and love. There's no way this heart was ever frozen."

He kisses her, nothing more than a brush of lips, an exchange of breath. "Well…not since you thawed it."

 _I love you_ , she thinks - and she pushes _her feelings_ forward, all of her love and affection and hope.

Edward kisses her again, a rush to the head as he listens to her body betray her excitement, her passion. _I love you_ , he returns, complete in his devotion.

(He is eclipsed by her love - and she his.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(And then it all goes to hell and Edward's life is reduced to a series of memories that tumble head-first down a spiraling, light-and-love-and-life-eating black hole.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _You're playing baseball?_ Bella clarifies with a brush of her hand, mind sliding smoothly against his own with a sense of bemusement as she realizes the reasons for the peculiar requirement. Her surprise is well-earned. _Because of a thunderstorm_?

Edward tilts his head down to catch her eyes, grinning widely at the prospect of sharing this with his mate. Baseball is an American past-time and Edward in particular had a great yen for it; it was another relic of his human life, an interest that had bloomed in his late teenage years. If he hadn't been drawn toward the Army to serve his country and if the Spanish Influenza hadn't taken him, he's sure that he might have pursued a career in baseball. He'd been good enough for the leagues, at least, and that hadn't changed when he'd been turned into a vampire.

"Would you like to watch?"

(Looking back - he should have never offered. It had been his first mistake.)

The large clearing where the Cullens prefer to play baseball is roughly ten minutes running top speed away from their remote house, far enough from Forks proper that the humans won't think twice about the thundering crash of a rainstorm over the Olympic range and skirting the outermost edges of the La Push treaty boundary. Edward runs with Bella hitched to his back, racing Emmett and unable to quell the desire to show off for his mate - an urge that doesn't fade as the actual game progresses. Esme acts as referee, as she always does, and Bella stands at her elbow, watching the spaces between the bases with a curious eye.

Edward is curious, too, wondering if Bella will be able to see all the competitive nuance with her admittedly-better-than-human-but-not-as-good-as-vampire vision. He hopes so. It's instinct to prove that he's talented, that he's fast and strong and clever. He knows from reading the minds of his coven members - the males in particular - that this desire to prove his worth to his mate isn't something that fades, exactly. It does get more manageable, though.

(Until it isn't.)

The game is going great - perfect, actually, because his team is beating Emmett's and that's just the sort of gloating that Edward is comfortable with -

He notices it on the peripheral of his telepathy at first. Edward has always made it a point to never _monitor_ the minds around him and this is especially true for Alice, whose unguarded mind is akin to a swirling vortex of possibilities that makes his head spin -

Sometimes, though, it's unavoidable. Often, Jasper will project a thought tinged with such emotion that it's like a neon sign, which is forgivable because Jasper hasn't quite gotten the hang of occluding his mind the way Carlisle and Alice and even Rosalie have -

Alice, though - when her mind is open and an intense vision slips, it is less like a neon sign and more like a five-alarm fire spreading rapidly through her mentalscape. And sometimes - not terribly often - sometimes a vision will hit Alice like a freight train and her unguarded mind will project more loudly than a broken sound barrier.

The vision she has now echoes through her mind like a sonic boom -

 _A blond vampire, dirty and unkempt, surrounding Bella in a ballet studio, in a forest, in her bedroom -_

 _Bella's throat ripped clean open - blood, so much blood spilling forth and soaking clothes and skin and dirt and wood -_

 _Edward's hands wrapped around a neck -_

 _Red hair -_

 _Screaming -_

"Alice, what was that?" Edward demands. He doesn't wait for a response; it's pointless; Alice is still in the thrall of the vision. Edward blurs over to Alice, bending to stare hard in her unseeing eyes - and then racing to Bella's side before Alice can even gasp out an explanation. He suppresses an aggressive snarl, but only just.

"Nomads," Alice reveals in shock and her mind clamor and clangs around the vision. "Three of them. They were drawn by the sound of our game. And it's too late to fall back - they can hear us now."

 _I'm sorry, Edward_ , she adds shakily and even though the rest of the minds around him are rumbling loud in panic and confusion, it is Alice's whisper-thin thought that shakes Edward to his core -

He turns his back to his mate, hiding her slip of a frame with the lithe bulk of his body, reaching backward around her body until he can splay her hand across her lower back, pressing the front of her body to the back of his securely. It might be enough to hide her scent, or at least buy enough time that he can -

Bella's fingers slip against his skin and he can feel her reel in shock at the vision that is at the forefront of his mind. He can't spare it another thought, though he longs to turn and comfort her -

The vampires are coming. Curious minds, but spiked with hunger and a primal beast that is close to the surface. Human-drinkers. Traditionalist nomads. One mated pair, and a third companion who seems content to follow the leader at the moment - but maybe they can exploit that, pit the third against the leader or separate the mates or -

No. No, fighting them outright wasn't an option, not with Bella so comparatively breakable.

He would wait for the soonest opportunity, and then he would run. He couldn't do it now, as that would be too obvious that the Cullens were trying to hide something - someone - from the nomads. Edward hopes that his scent will layer over Bella's enough, but even as he thinks it, he has doubts - Alice's vision had been so crystal clear and Bella's scent was so strong, so intriguing and sweet and _other_ -

His growl is sub-vocal, even as Bella brushes her fingers against her back and says, _I'm okay. That's not going to happen_.

For the first time, Edward _does not care_ what Bella thinks. Her safety is the most important -

Three vampires enter the clearing and immediately, Jasper and Emmett have assessed that the greatest threat is the gaunt-faced blond leader, followed quickly by the red-haired mate. The third, the dark-skinned one, seems _soft_ in comparison to the other two. That's good.

Edward doesn't dare move as the scene unfolds, his hand an immobile force against Bella's back even as his muscles remain tense, ready to pounce or attack or run or _something -_

"Hello," Carlisle says pleasantly. "Passing through?"

"We heard your game," says the dark-skinned one, acting as spokesperson, an arrangement that the coven-leader insists upon for strategic advantages. "I am Laurent. These are James and Victoria. I don't suppose we would be able to play?"

"Unfortunately, our game as just ended," Carlisle responds apologetically.

"What a shame," says Laurent.

And then -

James recognizes Alice and it is a tumultuous wave of information tinged with blood-hungered pining and a vicious grudge as Edward learns more about Alice's human life than even Alice had been aware - learns that James had stalked her, had murdered her family, had driven her into an asylum while Alice was still _so young_ and that an old vampire had protected Alice, had thwarted James until James killed him in response for turning his _singer_ -

James is still utterly incensed by this slight, by the haunting inability to taste Alice's human blood and that is -

 _Well, if that isn't just the sweetest scent_ , James thinks as he catches the faintest whiff of Bella on the damnable breeze.

Edward growls defensively.

(That is his second mistake).

"You brought a snack?" James purrs with an alien tilt of his head, dirty blonde hair falling across his face. "How convenient. She's a bit small to share, though."

"Forgive me," Carlisle says carefully, shifting his stance ever so slightly, his thoughts roving for a non-violent solution to a situation that is unfolding with such speed. "But I'm afraid you have a misapprehension about our family."

"Oh, I misunderstand _nothing_ ," James promises. His thoughts flash between Alice and Bella's scent, about how much of a fair trade it would be. Bella smelled almost as sweet as Alice, almost as young and innocent. What would this coven care about losing their little pet when they _already had the pet that should have been his_?

Bella trembles against Edward's back and he realizes belatedly that she is still touching his skin, that she is reading the thoughts that pass through his mind - that she is watching it all play out just as thoroughly as Edward is. Sharing the burden - but no, not quite that. Bella is…using Edward's gift for herself, a realization that is peripheral because as he remains focused on James' mind, Bella switches decisively to Alice's thoughts -

(He will be amazed later that such a thing is possible, that Bella could somehow manage to borrow Edward's range - to effectively borrow his entire gift with a single touch.)

 _Edward,_ she thinks right before she shoves an image of her Volturi pendant right into his mind -

And when he doesn't respond, she latches onto his telepathy with as much power she can muster, inserting herself into the driver's seat and absolutely _flooring it_ as she twists his power to do her bidding. He winces as she warps his telepathy, manipulating it to communicate directly with Alice -

(How was that even possible? Third mistake - underestimating Bella.)

If there had ever been any doubt that Bella is the daughter of a police officer, that she is possessed of a quick, analytic mind, that she shares the same blood as the most ruthless vampire Edward has ever come across - well. Bella shatters all illusions to the contrary as she spins a plan that just might get them all out of this sticky situation -

It doesn't. While Laurent runs away in fear of his life upon spotting the pendant Bella brandishes in the direction of the nomads, it quickly becomes clear that James doesn't care about the Volturi and nether does Victoria.

Edward scoops Bella up, turns on his heel, and _runs_ -

 _We can't just run away!_ She argues.

 _Yes, we can!_

 _He's a tracker - what about Charlie?_

 _Charlie isn't my mate!_

 _You're not being reasonable! Think for a second, Edward!_

He doesn't slow and he doesn't change track. _What would you have me do?_

 _La Push_ , Bella decides after a moment. _The wolves._

 _Alice can't see the wolves_ , Edward retorts, but he hesitates. He hadn't considered the werewolves, not for a second. Maybe it didn't matter that Alice was blind to the future if the wolves were directly involved; maybe they relied too much on Alice to predict the steps they should take. Maybe with the wolves, they could draw James out, and then surprise him with an ambush.

Bella senses his agreement and borrows his telepathy again, pushing the new plan out to Alice and Jasper and then -

 _Sam!_ Bella calls out telepathically - over and over and over again, blood dripping steadily from her nose.

 _Bloodsuckers,_ Sam acknowledges with a troubled realization that a leech was in _his_ mind. His massive wolf form appears not a moment later, running beside Edward with a ferocious growl of warning.

Bella faints after she pulls away from Edward's mind - leaving him, Alice, and Jasper to rendeavous with the wolves as they cross the treaty line for the first time since it had been established -

He can't spare a moment to be worried for his mate's health. Her heart is beating and she doesn't seem to be in pain, so he can only conclude that she had over-extended her ability and there wasn't much Edward could do about that, honestly - so after her gently sets her down against the base of a tree, he turns his attention to things he can control.

They make a plan. It's not _good_. He doesn't _like it_. But it's better than any other alternative.

It wasn't as if a peaceable resolution was an option.

They all separate, dispatched to handle different tasks, and Edward struggles not to feel as if he's completing a fool's errand as he leaves his mate in the middle of enemy territory with a new enemy on the way -

(It is his last mistake.)

Bella fights back, proving that she is not half as helpless as he'd like to think, but in the end it is clearly not enough.

Because -

Because by the time Edward realizes that he has been evaded, by the time he runs back to the clearing where he'd left Bella with Alice, by the time he -

James is biting Bella. Drinking her blood. Killing her.

He doesn't pause. He doesn't think. Edward races forward, rips James away from his mate's neck - effectively aiding James in ripping Bella's throat out, just as Alice had foreseen -

It's too late. _It's too late_. He roars as James is ripped apart, caught in the throws of rage and mourning and he will never be whole again -

Bella stares up at him for seconds at a time, pale and half-sightless by heavy eyelids. She can't hear him while he professes his love. He isn't even completely sure that she _sees_ him because when he touches her and her skin is so cold, he doesn't _feel_ her in his mind. He doesn't - she isn't - and her _heart_ is slowing -

Please, God, _no_.

"Bella," he says brokenly, cradling her jaw in his hand. Desperate and gasping when her hand reaches up to touch his cheek in turn. "Can you hear me?"

 _I love you_ , says her mind, but it doesn't feel _like her_ because she's fading and she's fading quickly as blood pools beneath her body and beneath his knees and nothing can stop the steady seep between fingers frantically trying to hold her skin together _-_

 _I'm sorry I don't have enough blood_.

Edward's mind stutters -

Blood.

It always came down to blood.

Blood had ruled him since the moment he'd opened his eyes to this new life and he had only stopped resenting the thrall once it became clear that Bella's blood was _special_ , that it made it possible for them to love each other, that -

 _Bella's blood is special_.

"Bring me blood!" he shouts. "All the blood you can find - quickly - anything will do!"

"Edward?"

" _Go!_ " he roars and even as Bella's eyes close again and even as he applies pressure to the gaping, gory wound of her throat, he doesn't lose the desperate hope that has seized him.

Blood was the solution - _of course_.

Alice returns with a rabbit and Edward does not hesitate to rip the head from the body, does not flinch away from forcibly prying Bella's jaw open so that the gush of hot blood will fall into her mouth. His other hand rubs at her throat, trying to stimulate the need to swallow, and she chokes for air until her body begins to respond - drinking the blood that he is offering her, again and again.

He loses count of how many small animals are sacrificed to replenishing Bella's body. It doesn't matter, not when the evidence that it's _working_ is so obvious - the mortal injury slowly begins to heal, faster than any human, nearly as perfect and efficient as a werewolf. Her body warms. She seems to be more _aware_. She certainly realizes, at some point, that he is still hand-feeding rabbits and squirrels to her, his hands slick with crimson but his chest tight with elation -

"That's it, love," Edward encourages. "Just drink."

Bella does.

And then she drinks more.

Until she pushes him away, uncaring of the arterial spray that paints her newly-rosy cheeks. Her fingers close strong around his wrists, a flare of pain alight in her eyes. "It's happening," she announces, baring her teeth to an agony that Edward is all-too familiar with -

Bella is saved and damned in one slash of a moment.

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **MARCH**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

It was a desperate gamble to feed Bella that blood - and even as she lay prone and healed and profusely hot to the touch in the guest room, surely undergoing the transformation borne from James' bite, he is still uncertain as to what he has done to his mate.

Edward regarded his own change as unnatural. Against God. An abomination. Even with all of Carlisle's compassion and the sheer joy that Edward has felt in recent months, he is absolutely certain that he is a damned creature.

And now he has just damned his mate, the other half of his heart and soul, to the same fate.

Or worse - a bastardized version of the same fate.

Carlisle didn't know what Bella would be like when she woke. If she would be cognizant or sane. If she would remember what happened. If she would even wake at all, honestly. There wasn't a precedent for this as Bella had been mostly human but just vampire enough to outstrip human intelligence, to be just durable enough, to be gifted beyond comparison -

Would she keep that spark of her humanity? Would she become like the immortal children the Volturi had banned? Had Edward - had he _stained_ her somehow in slicking her torn throat with fresh blood all in a fumbling attempt to keep her alive long enough for the venom to take hold and do its job?

(And was this how the first vampire was created? By a feast of blood on the brink of death thousands of years ago? Was there _merit_ to the fiction written by humans?

Was Bella even changing at all?)

It was difficult to tell.

Bella didn't make a sound - not once. She lay perfect and still as her heart galloped with the heat of venom tracing through her veins, but she made not a single noise to voice the agony brought by the burning as cells transformed -

She simply lay on the bed, hands crossed just below her ribcage, chest rising and falling steadily.

And Edward could do nothing but watch, waiting in anticipation that was near-painful.

None of them had answers. Jasper, for all that he had seen newborns turn, had never heard of a silent change. Carlisle could only monitor her vital signs with a furrow to his brow. Esme took to fussing with pillows and blankets that Bella was likely unaware of altogether. Emmett was somber. Rosalie was pinched, tense as she breezed into the room to check every hour on the hour for any change.

And Alice could see nothing -

Not Edward's future hanging in the balance of this would-be transformation and _nothing_ of Bella's fate.

(But this is true, this is the only thing that is certain: if Bella did not live, then Edward would follow her into the afterlife.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella wakes up.

It is not what he expects.

First, she does not seem to wake with any sort of urgency- she just opens her eyes, staring at the blanket on her body for moment, blinking a few times as she takes in her surroundings -

And second, her heart still beats.

One heavy, wet, fragrant thud per minute.

He can do nothing but stare as she looks at him, her eyes still that unbelievable shade of mossy green, her brow knit in thought as she says, "He bit me." She feels at her neck where thick, roping scars _should_ be, but the flesh is smooth and pale and unblemished -

And once a minute, the artery lining her throat jumps in a clear pulse.

He flinches.

He's ruined her - she's -

"What? What is it?"

 _Edward, do you need me? Is Bella okay? Is - what is that sound?_

Edward doesn't have the mind to answer either Carlisle or Bella with any amount of clarity. He manages to mumble, "Your heart" but it isn't any kind of explanation for any of this strangeness -

Bella is standing, radiating heat and confusion. "What about my heart? It's fine."

"It's _beating_ ," Edward tells her.

 _Her heart is beating -_

 _That's impossible -_

 _The future is changing, Edward, it's -_

 _What's going on? I don't understand -_

Bella arches her brows, bemused by his observation and decidedly _not understanding_ what has him so perturbed. She shoots him a funny look, then says, "Yeah, I know. Otherwise, we wouldn't be talking, would we?"

"You were bitten and your heart is _beating_ ," he reiterates.

It's the best he can do to explain - he honestly just doesn't have _words_ -

He doesn't _understand_ why -

Bella gasps, cupping her hand over her heart as it beats once again. "Oh, my God," she breathes, sinking to the floor boneless with eyes widened in shock. She looks up at him, breathing deeply and evenly as they both listen to the next beat of her heart. "What's happening to me?"

He wants to comfort her -

But it's not as easy as that - there is something _wrong_ \- not right - _he's ruined her -_

"Carlisle!" he yells out -

Carlisle will know what to do.

(Except that Carlisle does not know what to do.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella is both human and vampire.

It makes her _other_.

It also makes her alive.

 _You're alive_ , Edward says firmly after he has shown her the memories that will haunt him for the rest of eternity, those final moments leading to the end of her life and the beginning of this strange journey they have found together. _That is all that matters_.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She has trouble adjusting - more trouble than the rest of them had, to be honest, and Edward can only chalk it up to the fact that her senses aren't _constant_ , not the way his are. Bella's hearing is incredibly selective and she has a hard time not zeroing in on noises that are amplified so entirely by the change. Touch and sight are more even-keeled, but she is often lost to scent, dizzy with the spiraling fragrances of the world -

It is all he can do to comfort her as he sings her to sleep. He curses the March winds shrieking around the house and cradles his mate securely, comfortingly between his thighs as he plays a lullaby for her -

It doesn't feel like enough.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

And just when they believe they have fully adjusted to all of Bella's recent changes, just when it seems like they have a handle on what exactly has changed and just when it seems that Bella is _ready_ to venture back out into the world -

Bella does something unexpected.

It is, he thinks, partially his fault. He might have known better than to gallivant around Bella when he is still covered in the messy evidence of his most recent hunt, blood streaked across his skin and clothing and his temper still swelling his scent from his latest bout with Emmett. In retrospect, he supposes he must seem rather seductive to her - it is the same for other mated couples, after all, that visceral reaction, that oblique connection between blood and sex -

It's just that he hadn't expected that Bella would crowd him against a wall, guide his lips to hers unerringly, and twist his world into a bundle of lust and tension. He responds to her attentions without thought, twisting them until her back is against the wall, his lips on her neck with his hands tracing the sensual curve of her spine -

And then her swollen lips are slipping against the edge of his jaw, following a rusty stain of blood on his skin, the contact between them blistering with heat and raw passion and then her mouth is latched over his Adam's apple and his hips stutter forward. He presses against the softness of her lower stomach, spine quivering in pleasure -

Bella bites, sinking her teeth deep into the tenderness of Edward's throat -

Oh.

His breath hitches, molten heat spreading through his entire body as he applies pressure to the back of her neck, inviting her bite so that she might suckle - so that she can more easily drink the venom-and-blood swimming through his cold bloodstream -

It feels _unimaginably_ good.

There are no barriers between their minds, and their bodies are drawn together in kind. He _wants_ her just as much as he had wanted her that first day -

Wants to press himself deep inside the heat of her body, feel her come apart around him - his cock, his fingers, his mouth. Anything. Everything -

He wants to _fuck_ her, even as she slips her little fangs from his flesh, lapping against his skin, her chest heaving and the scent of her arousal clouding his mind -

He growls at her as she pulls away, limpid eyes gazing up at him with sheer _want_. She licks the taste of his blood, his venom from her lips, then tilts her chin up in invitation for another crash of their lips - for surely the completion of the ache of their sexes - she smells _so close_ -

- _Edward! Oh, my God! Don't make me come up there -_

 _Get_ in _, brother!_

 _For the love of Christ, I need to run with Ali, now - all that lust -_

 _Edward -_

 _Isabella_.

He pulls away, tilting his head to the side. Then, with only a slash of irritation to match the mortification of his blatant arousal still pressed against her curvy little body, he announces, "Mele has arrived."

(And it's probably a good thing that Mele's timing is so wretched, for Edward was certainly only moments from slaking his lust - and Bella deserves better than a romp in the hallway.

Honestly, Edward deserves better than that, too.

It's better this way. Or at least, that is what he tells himself.)

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **APRIL**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

Mele is not what he expected. Or rather, she is _doing_ things that are not expected, though after the peeks he has glimpsed of her mind, he can't honestly say that he is terribly shocked that her approach with Bella is so -

Unforgiving is the word that comes to mind.

He doesn't like it. Although he understands all the reasons why Bella must be trained - he even agrees that it is for her own good and it wasn't at all unusual for newborn vampires to undergo a period of acclimatization to their new skills - even Carlisle demanded that the first year of Edward, Esme, Rosalie, and Emmett's new lives to be punctuated with a series of physical training sessions meant to introduce the new capabilities of their vampire bodies.

It's just that Mele is training Bella like one would train a soldier and that goes very much against the grain of how he views his mate. Bella is gentle, a bookworm with an eye for calculation. She isn't like the Volturi stock from which she was born. She isn't ruthless like Aro, nor coldly practical like Sulpicia. She isn't even as naturally defensive as Charlie.

Mele does not seem to care. She pushes Bella and then demands better - and Bella, being the perfectionist he has come to know her as, continues to rise to the challenge set before her.

Still, he does not _agree_ with the way Mele is going about things, but he also cannot find it in himself to set his foot down and prevent the training from happening. The reasons why Mele is training Bella with such aptitude are decisive and reasonable. Bella must be able to defend herself. And they must know the extent of her capabilities.

And as Rosalie points out, Edward _doesn't have to like it._

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(Still, he watches Bella become self-actualized with nothing short of awe and reverence.

She is a force to be reckoned with, completely in control of her bloodlust and her body and her power, her mind ticking in the background in a plethora of half-formed ideas and plans and he just _knows_ that she's as important to the world as she is to him -

Alice all but confirms it, smiling coyly when Edward catches the fuzzy glimpse of a vision that sweeps across Alice's psyche - of Bella standing tall before a trio of Kings - of Bella in a lab, frowning down at a microscope - of Bella staring at a television monitor with poorly-concealed anticipation - of Bella _changing the world for the better -_

Always Bella.

"What _was_ that?" he breathes with wide eyes.

Alice only shakes her head. "That would be telling."

In other words: Edward will just have to be _patient_.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

She sweeps into his room reeking of exhaustion, her eyes dark and tinted with shadows, hair pulled over one shoulder to show off the gently seductive slope of her neck. She doesn't look so different after the change, probably because she'd already been physically perfect _before_ venom was reintroduced into her body and so there was nothing to fix. Rosalie was much the same, although her physical perfection was a quirk of nature; Edward knows from his own distant human memories that the transformation from human to vampire had vastly improved his own appearance, to say nothing of the obvious miracles surrounding both Esme and Emmett's changes.

Bella, though, she simply seems to have reached the peak of her physical health - just a bit taller, a tad rounder in her curves, the last remnants of baby fat melted off her bones. She looks both woman and girl, just the same as Alice. A certain timeless quality that will lend itself well to the playing-human aspect of immortality. Bella will be able to hide in plain sight.

It's a relief.

All the things that could have gone wrong -

He delivers his undivided attention to his fatigued mate, pushing his journal away from his lap to hold his arms out in invitation. "You don't have to pretend you're not exhausted, love."

"Actually, I do," she contradicts softly, folding herself onto his lap with her forehead pressed against his shoulder. She's so soft and small against him, fitting against his body like the matching piece of a lost puzzle, her scent wafting into his nose, tangy and sweet and tart. Mouthwatering, honestly, and it is all he can do to tighten his arms around her waist, relishing in her weight balanced across his thighs. "It's part of Mele's training," she continues casually.

"Her goal is to make you collapse from fatigue?" Edward questions.

"Her goal is to determine how long I can stay awake sustained on only blood," she corrects. "And then her goal will be to determine how long I can stay awake sustained on only food."

Ah, yes. He wasn't ignorant to this, of course, but Bella conveying the parameters of her training disturbed him all over again. He can't recall ever hearing of a sire purposefully toying with a newly-changed vampire's requirements to sustain themselves before, but he must remind himself that Mele is _not_ Bella's sire and that Bella is _not_ the average vampire. She's special. Her heart still beats.

Still -

"She's experimenting on you," he accuses, stroking the dip of her waist with tender concern.

"Yes, she is," Bella agrees, covering her mouth as her jaw cracks in a yawn. "But it makes sense - I have to understand my limitations."

"I've heard that phrase too often over these last two weeks," he grumbles.

"You're so protective," she teases, kissing the hinge of his jaw.

Just that single touch is enough to create heat in his lower stomach and Edward smiles down at her, topaz eyes smoldering. "Only natural, love, to desire to protect my heart."

Bella stretches, tangling her fingers into his hair and kissing him with a full-body shiver. Her lips bloom open beneath his, breasts pressed heavily against his chest as she shifts, moving over him until she is straddling his hips, legs spread over his lap and knees hoisting her over his groin. Her scent ripens in the air, betraying her lust, and he is lost to her - all Edward can do is encourage the tiny circling grind Bella performs, cupping her lower hips to make her motions more firm, a low growl building in his chest.

"I have something to tell you," she murmurs between kisses.

He hums against her skin, trailing his lips down the tender line of her throat, nipping at her skin and watching with heavy eyes as pink rushes to the surface -

Bella scoots backward on his lap, flushing when her full weight rests upon his hardened cock trapped in his jeans - an exquisite torture made all the more alluring for the way her breasts heave within the confines of her shirt, nipples erect from being so close to _him_. She's flushed and warm and he knows that she's _wet_. His mouth parts in desire that he doesn't even bother to hide and just as he is about to draw her close again - because for some reason she had pulled _away_ \- Bella's hands frame his jaw, the tips of her fingers pressed against his temples -

Their minds connect fully and her heart thuds as she opens in the most intimate way for him -

Bella pushes her affection, her lust, her _love_ for him from her mind and into his. Edward drowns in the way his chest feels fit to burst and inhales sharply -

"You are my life now," she declares solemnly.

In the span of a second, Edward is overtaken by his instincts -

He twists them until she is beneath the breadth of his body, his lips crashing against hers with the full force of his love - a returned gesture that is punctuated by the acute ache below his hips as his beautiful, amazing mate arches beneath him. He presses himself against her, a facsimile of what he _really_ wants to do, which is _have_ her until she is strung out and trembling and flushed that delicate shade of carnation pink all over -

Until he can remember only her taste and nothing else.

Edward thrusts against her once, twice for good measure - and then clarity seeps back into his mind and it is _damning_ because they are both virgins and the house is full and he's trying this on a _couch_ of all places - and it isn't _right -_

He pulls back a fraction, tilting his hips away from the enticing apex of her thighs with a muted groan of frustration. Self-loathing, honestly. He shouldn't be so caught up in - in - in _human_ constraints, but he'd been raised religious and God may hate him, but Edward wasn't about to do anything to curry disfavor -

 _I'm not going to ask you for something that you cannot give,_ Bella says directly to his mind, her dainty hands curled around the name of his neck. Grounding him as she shifts beneath his weight, breaking the connection of their minds as she slips her palms over his clothes shoulders.

She still smells of _want_ , but she does not push him.

What had he done to deserve this angel?

Surely God has forgiven him his sins if he is able to have Bella?

Edward can only murmur her name - a prayer he speaks against her cheekbone and a plea for forgiveness all at once.

(This is a test of a different sort of patience.)

* * *

 **A/N: Part Three of Auntie Kim's outtake requests - thoughts with your family, Auntie!**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	30. the outtakes: memory (part four)

**the outtakes**

 **memory**

 **(part four)**

* * *

 **We don't remember days, we remember moments.**

 **\- Cesare Pavese**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **MAY**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

As a vampire, Edward feels a particular sort of dread during the springtime - after all, with spring comes summer and with summer comes the promise of the sun, which would leave him shut inside or cowering in the nearest shadow lest he betray his nature with the implacable distraction of his sparkling vampiric skin.

Of course, he'd never had the pleasure of seeing Bella in the sun until this past year and he must confess that he is _greatly_ looking forward to watching the warm light play across her skin and hair - both of which glow as if lit from the inside now that she has undergone her own transformation. Privately, he would _love_ to see _all_ of her skin on display for his eyes only, but he knows that isn't possible. Yet.

And certainly not now when he is picking her up for school.

Or rather, trying to drag himself away from her distractingly delicious kisses, flavored with her strong coffee and the blood of a wily elk. Which, while not exactly palatable to Edward, was clearly a delight to his mate and he would endure for her sake. It wasn't as if the combination was more grotesque than those mortifying weeks in the autumn where he'd been forcing himself to actually ingest human food before she had persuaded him differently. Coffee and blood he could more than handle.

Edward drags himself away from a deep kiss with a chuckle, tracing the edge of her book of the day with a raised brow. "Slyvia Plat? That's a bit…"

His mate rolls her eyes good-naturedly, a glint in her eye as she curls her fingers around the nape of his neck, holding him in place just long enough to rub against the scar her little fangs had left in his skin. He represses a shiver as she retorts, "Aside from the whole head-in-the-oven thing, she was a very misunderstood woman. Her work is sheer brilliance."

"Is that so?"

He allows her to reel him in, drawing him closer with his hips wedged between her thighs. It isn't strictly appropriate given their outdoor location on the Swan's front porch, but it wasn't as if any of the neighbors were around to witness their embrace. Edward tilts his chin upward to perfect the angle of their kiss, growling softly when she audaciously bits on his bottom lip just hard enough to split his skin for a quick second, flicking her clever tongue against the fast-healing gash with a sharp spike in her scent.

God, but he is shamefully _proud_ of how the taste of his venom-tinged blood is enough to drive her _wild_.

"We should go to school," he says after a moment, clearing his throat.

Bella smiles sweetly, almost too innocent for the minx he knows she has hidden deep inside, and then slips from the porch railing, heading toward the Volvo while he gathers her backpack. Then, she pauses. "Hold on," she sighs. "I forgot to get the newspaper."

"I'll get it," he offers. "It's the least I can do for distracting you so thoroughly."

Edward employs vampire speed to grab the folded issues of _The New York Times_ and _The Seattle Times_ and he idly unfolds them only for his eyes to dart across -

And he knows that his mate is speaking, that she _always_ deserves his fullest attention, but -

There is no mistaking a headline like this.

 _SEATTLE SERIAL KILLER? Among A Rash Of Disappearances and Bloodless Murders A Pattern Has Emerged!_

He isn't the least bit surprised to hear Bella's cellphone chirp, or for her to answer the phone with a confused, "Alice?"

 _"You and Edward need to come to the house_ ," Alice breathes on the other side.

Edward nods to himself, clutching the papers mindfully. He can't be certain that Alice has learned of these events by watching this moment in real-time, or if she has seen the news online, so it is important that this copy of _The Seattle Times_ be preserved.

Bella says, "Alright. We'll be right there."

Yes. A family meeting is _much_ more important a venture than attending human school. This was the type of news that constituted an emergency -

There is no hiding it from Bella, however, even if he had wanted to. She's too curious by half and before the Volvo has even left her street, she is reading the newspaper with a voracious sort of focus - the exact type of singular attention that had made her so interesting to him in the very beginning. Now it is this attention that has given her a firm glimpse of the exact types of atrocities vampires were capable of, if she hadn't been aware before.

Edward is unable to feel nausea. He simply doesn't possess the constitution for it any longer.

(But if it were possible, he's certain he would be sick to his stomach.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _"A mate for a mate,"_ Victoria mutters to herself in the vision - and there is a flash of dozens of vampires with human-red eyes of the newly-turned - and the snarling curl of Victoria's mouth as she lunges at the whisper-thin images of Edward and Bella. Nothing about the vision is substantial, nothing except for Victoria's motivation.

(A mate for a mate. How God can be so cruel is beyond him.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

May is - quick. Frighteningly so.

Edward is made quite aware that Bella is in the process of heaving behind a decidedly human life. She trains with a new energy, a new goal in mind; she integrates into her personality an aspect of responsibility that is frankly more than _practical_ ; she even dons a new cloak, taking up political arms in response to the crisis of Victoria's looming threat.

He can do nothing but he supportive.

It is as she says - even without Edward, this would have been Bella's world eventually. That she is taking up the mantel sooner rather than later simply is what it is. He must make peace with that.

(Though, it is certainly a blow to his ego that his mate should be so proficiently independent. She is, however, firmly a millennial and he is not eager to make the mistake of assuming that she is too young, too innocent to look after herself.

All it takes is a touch, after all.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Edward does what he can to be the support she needs - perhaps even the steady rock she doesn't realize she requires to stand. He has been wracking his mind, trying to find a place to fit into this world that Bella is creating around her, trying to locate his niche without stepping on toes -

And it is _so_ very important, so vital, that he is able to do this for her because she has done so much for _him_. She might not realize it, but he does. He knows.

So he observes and slips into place where it suits him. At her side, an anchor, a harbor, a buoy should she ever need it.

Edward strives to be his mate's sense of _normalcy_.

So he takes her to a human ritual - prom, a dance where she is a vision in blue and is content to sway in his arms, and he is _happy_ even with the chaos around them. For a single night, it is just Edward and Bella. For just a few hours, they are together without compromise. Just for a while, it is easy to forget the threat looming over them all, casting a pall of stress and shadow over each ever-waking hour.

(It doesn't last.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **JUNE**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

Edward doesn't _like_ Jane.

Frankly, he doesn't appreciate the Volturi presence in Cullen territory at all - the implication of sending a team of guards to a territory that is already managed is a slight against the Cullen ability to _manage_ their territory - but he understands why they have come. Aro wants to protect Bella. Aro doesn't think Edward can protect Bella.

(Edward tries valiantly to not be offended by this - but again, the implication is rather heavy-handed.)

He can _accept_ that the Volturi is here. He can even _accept_ that each guard has a certain set of orders that must be observed, including placing a stranglehold on Edward's ability to be physically close to his mate; after all, he's wise enough to see that _Bella_ would be having words with her relative about this decree and he can be content in the knowledge that she will speak on behalf of both of them -

(Because it is one thing to know that Bella abstains _for_ Edward, even if she isn't particularly inclined herself to celibacy in the wake of her new senses and the unerring draw of the unconsummated mating bond between them. Bella abstains with Edward because Edward's morality demands it. She does this to respect him, he knows. Edward also knows that she won't be best pleased to discover that a third party would deign to have any control over their physical relationship. It is, in fact, another issue entirely if abstinence is _forced_ upon them, prior promises of chastity notwithstanding.

He digresses.)

So, no. There are quite a few reasons to feel the imposition of this Volturi arrival and Edward can find logical reasoning to make peace with most of them. Except for Jane.

Of course he knows about her. He isn't sure there is a vampire in the world who has had associations with the Volturi and _not_ heard of the witch-twins, Alec and Jane. Illusionists of sensory deprivation and sensory anguish, opposites of the same coin, and notorious in certain circles for having a less than reputable nature. And now one of those twins, arguably the more sadistically inclined, stands not three feet from his mate and the only thing saving them all from unimaginable pain at Jane's mercy is a flick of an eyelid and a will that seems to be constantly balancing on a precarious edge.

Jane is dangerous because she is easily bored. It just so happens that the easiest cure to her boredom also involves liberal use of her… _gift_.

A curse, if anyone asked Edward. But it is probably a good thing that they had not asked him -

He wants the Volturi guard far, far away from Bella.

And yet, it is not his decision. As of this moment, with the memorandum of Aro's final order still fresh in the guard's minds, it isn't even up to _Aro_. It's up to Bella.

It's a test.

(The first of many tests that Aro will foist upon his heir, Edward will soon find out, and it is so ruthlessly pragmatic that when he does finally put it all together, he will only be able to stand in stupefaction as he watches his mate unwittingly - then wittingly - rise to each occasion set before her in obstacle.

It's amazing, really, how Edward had found himself mated to a political animal, and a fifteen-year-old one at that.)

Bella issues succinct orders, and the Volturi seem ready to listen, even though Jane is grudging about the entire arrangement. Charlie, however, is less inclined to follow the orders of his daughter and makes a token attempt to protest.

"Now, Bells, I don't know that I'm comfortable with this," Charlie says firmly, hands on his hips, as if he isn't surrounded by three human-drinking traditionalists and only one true ally to fend them off. "I know Aro sent them and all, but these people are strangers…and we don't have a guest room for them."

"They don't sleep," Bella counters flatly.

"I will personally guarantee that we won't be any trouble for you, Master Charles," Felix declares. "We have our orders."

"Exactly," Edward injects warily. "That is precisely my concern."

"Oh, _please_ ," scoffs Jane. "We are here to guard the girl, so we will be wherever she is whether you like it or not, mind-reader."

Edward steps forward minutely. "I _can_ read your mind, Jane, and so I know perfectly well that you are compelled here only for-"

Pain. _Agony_ ripping through every inch of his body -

And then Bella's scent - tart, summer-sweet berries - and her voice snapping, _Stop that!_ \- and then the pain is gone in an instant. And of course it was, being an illusion -

(Bella is standing in front of him and he knows that Jane is still holding her gift out like a sword, but it's not touching Bella _at all_ \- and it's not touching Edward, either. And they knew, didn't they, that Bella was _quite_ gifted, more so than any of them might have imagined.)

Jane is no match for Bella, something which Jane realizes with a lurch in her confidence. "As you say, Mistress Isabella," Jane says in response to Bella's order, though her tone is grudging.

"Just Bella, please," mutters his mate as she shifts, pressing her palm to her forehead and _completely_ missing the slack shock on Jane's face as she waives formalities.

Edward happens to be privy to the falter in the caustic edge of Jane's mind - happens to know that Bella not standing on ceremony that she truly does deserve, being of Aro's blood, is such a surprise that Jane can't help but warm herself to this new mission. And when Jane realizes that Edward is encroaching on this realization, she bares her teeth and turns away -

But Edward knows. He always knows.

So does his mate as she reaches for his hand, dragging him into a discussion about the logistics of the Volturi guard being in Forks that he honestly has no say in, though he does appreciate that Bella is constantly placing them on even playing fields.

 _And Aro would not send someone whose loyalty he doubted_ , she reminds him carefully.

Edward bows his head, squeezing her hand gently. _I trust your judgment_ , he finally acquiesces.

(And even though Jane makes a play at remaining disgruntled by the personal nature of her assignment by calling Bella a half-breed _to her face_ , Edward can't find any bearing to hold onto anything but a healthy dose of weariness around the other vampires - especially with the events in the clearing that soon follow, and not even when later Jane turns her gift on him a second time to force Bella's shield into expanding -

No, he may not _like_ Jane, but so long as she isn't moving against his Bella, then he will tolerate her presence.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(And then there is the boon that he does not mention to anyone, not even Bella.

The Volturi guard refer to him as _Prince_ in their minds, a formality that they withhold expressing for the fact that he and Bella have yet to be wed and they all can scent that the mating bond remains unfinished. Still, he is _mate_ to a Princess of the Volturi and while she may demand informalities that only Felix - and occasionally Jane - observe, it is part of the pomp and circumstance of Volturi tradition instigated by Aro that Edward, too, has a place in the politics of vampire royalty.

Knowing that Edward is a telepath, the Volturi guard refrain from calling him _Prince_ out loud - but they hold no such reservations in their minds. Jane, in particular, seems to enjoy waving the title over Edward's mind along with whatever scathing, sarcastic vitriol spews forth from her thoughts.

Edward would like to reject it - but.

If Bella has embraced her heritage, then he has no choice but to go along. This had never been his aspiration, but so long as it is Bella's goal to remain part of the Volturi line, so long as she is involved with her blood-kin in Aro, then Edward with bite his tongue and work to acclimate to the jump of new status that he has somehow acquired, silent in observation though it may be.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

June passes in a series of strategic alignments.

"I never thought I would see the day when the Volturi guard willingly worked with werewolves," Carlisle muses as the other covens arrive.

And yes - that quite sums up Edward's own feelings of disbelief as contacts from all over the world, as even the Quileute wolves, gather to the Olympic Northwest at the summons of the Cullen Coven. Not one of them had expected the response to be so swift.

Neither had Edward expected that, once it was understood who Bella was and that she was _indeed_ an integral part of the tactical planning that was taking place, the other vampires would acquiesce so easily to leadership that is not strictly Cullen. The visiting covens all understand that Bella is Volturi before Cullen and yet they are all willing to follow her -

They all follow Bella where they do not follow the Volturi Kings, a pill made easier to swallow with Bella's swift reprimanding of the second half of the witch-twins, Alec, who wastes no time in his displeasure of being allied with _ravenous beasts_ -

"I'll remind you that _I_ am the niece of Caius," she says sharply. "The wolves are off-limits, but I will be more than happy to deal with any fallout that should occur with my uncle."

 _As you wish, Princess,_ Alec concedes silently -

(It is, as far as Edward is concerned, the final nail in the coffin insofar as his own realizations are concerned. Bella was _born_ for this position - a natural leader - and she thrives in this environment of constant challenges.

It makes him wonder for a few hours if he truly belongs at her side. Mates do not happen by accident, however, and just because Bella has this side of her, it does not detract from all the wonderful qualities that have endeared her to him so fiercely. She's a political force to be reckoned with, but she is also a nurturer, a philosopher, a scientist, and in possession of what is perhaps the greatest, kindest, most selfless mind he has ever come across -

Edward is not so old as to be incapable of change, but Bella is not asking him to adapt; she only asks that he holds her hand.

And that he can do.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 _I believe in you_ , he thinks as he presses a kiss to the crown of her head. His hand plays over her fingers, lingering over a particular one for long enough that his mind unwittingly flashes with an image of a particular ring - and then Edward steels himself. _I adore you, Bella…_

 _Wait! Save it_ , she tells him as she pushes hair away from his forehead. _Don't taint your proposal with this uncertainty hanging over our heads. I want to remember the way you ask without it being marred by all this stress._

A wise choice, all things considered.

Edward's hand skims up her arm to curve around the base of her skull, dragging her into an impassioned kiss even as he thinks, _I can't wait to marry you…but I can wait to propose._

 _I can't wait to say yes._

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

What to remember about June 19th?

(There is so much to remember, so many things that _changed_ Edward - and he had already been changing for eight months prior that maybe these changes weren't noticeable to any save himself, but still they were changes. Yes, he had been just as altered by the events of that day - he will never forget -)

It is the day that Edward learns what the remaining half of a mated-pair looks like when the first vampire has passed from the world.

(There is Victoria, a piteous character, washed out and a pale imitation of the creature she had been in February. She is crazed with eyes blackened by hunger, a mind blackened by grief, and a body blackened by soot and dirt in equal measure. Venom has stained her lips, which are twisted into a snarl. She roves the land, a wild thing hinged only two things: vengeance and James. This is what vampire grief looks like - living, but not alive, breathing, but not of air, seeing, but nothing which is real. Even the bloodlust is gone from Victoria's mind and it is this absence of the thing that has damned them all to the world that tells Edward that Victoria is too far-gone. She is _starving_ , hollow-cheeked and half-blind from a hunger that she simply doesn't feel anymore; there is no room left in her except for a constant mantra of _JamesJamesJames_. She must be put down - it would be a mercy. Now, he understands.)

It is the day that Jasper, his brother in all but sire, finally finds closure from the violence that had marked his early life.

(There is Maria, with her grotesquely scarred face and a mind of rock-climbing ambition that glosses over every terrible moment of Jasper's newborn years and all the faint impressions of the times Maria has stalked Jasper, learning this new version of him that is improved by Alice, but always, always in the shadow and - and then there is Maria's head, flying to the left while her body continues to the right, that dark hair tangling on grass and root as it rolls and rolls and rolls - and then there is Jasper's triumph and his betrayed heart and Alice's chiming voice guiding him back to the moment -

It is the day that he and Bella give chase to prey that _cannot_ be let free to roam the Earth, not with her new responsibility that she has taken upon herself and not with his determination to help her bear the weight of the world in any small way he can.

(There is the forest blurring beneath their feet and the curling firebrand red hair ahead of them, leading them into territory protected by a treaty and marked by the rank scent of wolf - and none of them hesitate, though he surely _wishes_ it was an option. And then there is his mates mind twirling sharply through his own, taking tacit control of his telepathy and latching onto Victoria's mind with a single-minded focus that is both painful and admirable. Bella bleeds, as she always does when she pushes her gifts too far, but it does not stop her. Nothing does.)

It is the day he and his mate finally speak to the conductor of the chaos that has forced Bella to become soldier first and girl second.

(There is Victoria again and she screams, "You killed him! You killed James! Jamie, Jamie, my James!"

"And you killed a lot of innocent people," Bella responds flatly.

"Innocent?" Victoria echoes. "No, no, no, not innocent - they're going to help me get my James back! _They agreed_! You killed him and _I'm going to kill you! She promised_!"

"I hate to break it to you, but Maria is dead and so are all your little helpers," Edward says.

"You're next," Bella quickly adds, advancing on Victoria with measured steps, her hands held out as Edward mirrors her pace by pace. "All it takes is a touch.")

It is the day that Bella follows a lunatic off a cliff, launching her diminutive form after Victoria, diving deep into the quivering, dark waters just off the rocky shoreline with no heed to her own safety.

(There is Edward, gaping after his mate as she is dragged around by the undertow and he cannot _see_ her for the water is too dark and there is no sun to lend a light beyond the clouds and what can he _do_ except take the same leap of faith that his fearless mate took? Bella feared _nothing_. He would not cower in metaphorical shadows, either.)

It is the day that Bella takes a life.

(There are her hands upon Victoria's saltwater-slick skin, her nails gouging deep into unforgiving flesh right there in the water and they are sinking, and then floating, and then sinking even as Edward swims after them - but Bella doesn't seem to notice. Her eyes are glowing an unnaturally bright green, lanterns in black-blue water, and her skin is flushing with vitality even as Victoria's eyes roll uselessly in their sockets, even as the fight seems to seep from Victoria's body. Even as Victoria's mind falls silent - all from a touch.)

It is the day that all Edward is able to do is burn the body and hope that the lack of evidence - the lack of reminder - will be _enough_ for Bella because even without touching her - he knows. He knows. _He knows_.

(There is water-logged clothes dried by the lick of driftwood-blue flame, plumes of purple-grey smoke carrying away the cloying scent of burning vampire flesh - smoke that is mirrored several miles away in a different, larger pyre. Edward takes care of the body, and then he takes care of his mate as best as he is able, pulling her into his arms, cradled against his chest with her head beneath her chin and patience in his bearing.)

It's June 19th and they will never be quite the same again.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Bella copes as well as can be expected - but it is difficult because they know that her vitality is sustained by the energy of another. Victoria's death had fed Bella with far more efficiency than blood and food combined -

He makes peace with it more quickly than she does.

It's his prerogative to be thankful for anything that has the ability to protect his mate - and there is no denying that this ability of Bella's _would_ protect her more thoroughly than even a rash of Volturi guards.

He waits for Bella to come to him because he will not rush this reconciliation that she must reach.

They all make peace in their own ways.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

He takes her to the meadow, as seems appropriate. The meadow is where this all began for them - and it only seems right that he make the steps toward permanency in a place that has so much meaning.

"You seem nervous," she observes with a delighted smile after they have watched the entirety of the sunset. Bella is snugly secure with her back against his chest as he sits in the direct center of the meadow, legs splayed on either side of her hips, his hands tapping an unnamed melody against her cardigan-covered wrists.

Edward pauses, shifting minutely beneath her weight. "Well, I am about to put my ego at risk."

"Is that supposed to be a joke? I must be missing the punchline - or for a vampire, you have a remarkably poor memory," she razzes fondly, reaching up to trace the jittering shape of his lips with the barest touch of her fingers before smoothing her palm in an upward caress from chin to temple, ending with her hand carding gently through his tousled hair.

It is all so _natural_ , the way they fit together even after everything that happened or will happen in the future. He cannot help but lean into her touch, a smile touching his mouth as she gazes up at him with unmasked adoration.

"Now you really are wounding my ego."

"Imagine all the pain you could avoid if you would just ask the question," is her mellow response.

"Isabella Swan, I promise to love you every moment, forever," he murmurs, looking at her from beneath his lashes, gaze soft. Edward takes her left hand tenderly with his own, carefully straightening each of her fingers before reverently sliding a platinum ring onto her finger. His mother's ring fits as perfectly as kismet with a long, oval face and a cluster of slanted diamonds that is timeless and demure. Even as she studies the ring, she seems to register the way Edward's mind wonders over the way it looks on her hand - like she is finally _his_ in all the ways that matter to them both. "Would you do me the extraordinary honor of marrying me?"

Her answer is a soul-searing kiss and a resounding, fiercely joyful _yes_.

(Still, he does not feel foolish for his nerves. Bella has taught him that nothing is set in stone.)

* * *

 **o.o.o**

 **JULY**

 **o.o.o**

* * *

He loves the way she says his name when lust grips them both and encourages them - like a devil on the shoulder - to toe the line of abstinence that they have agreed to. Although, it's hardly Edward's fault that the sight of that ring on her finger is enough to stoke the flames of his desire -

"Edward," she breathes, shuddering against him where he has crowded her against his bookshelves, a hard line against her back as he hunches around her, one hand plucking at her puckered nipple, the other swirling expertly against her clitoris, and his teeth buried deep into the long line of her throat.

Bella enjoys the dominance that Edward seems to possess naturally, something to be grateful for considering the way that their instincts scream the best when she is under him, mewling and squirming and utterly under his mercy.

Her fingers curl into the shelves before her, back arching with futile movement that does little but rub her backside against his hardness. He snarls against her skin, a warning, and she stills again, limbs quivering with the effort to _stay still_ as he shifts his hand lower, turning his wrist until he can thrust fingers shallowly into her tight body, enjoying the uptick of her pulse that gushes passion-riddled blood into his waiting mouth. He flicks his tongue against her skin, lapping at stray rolls of blood, and mimics the rhythm with ever-deepening thrusts of his fingers. Her chest heaves as he pulls his mouth away, laving against the quick-healing crescents of his teeth.

"Please, please," she gasps, nearly soundless.

He rumbles against her ear. "What do you want?"

She shakes her head. She can't say it - but she does take advantage of the skin he's touching, pushing broken images of her desire toward him artlessly and Edward -

He growls, renewing his attentions to her body, curling his fingers against her until she keens, rocking onto her toes to escape the overstimulation as he chases her first orgasm into her second. Tears gather in her eyes, so overwhelmed by lust she is, by the time he eases off her still-clenching quim. And then, before she can regain her balance or even her wits, he twists her body around and in one economical movement, places pressure on her shoulders until her knees buckle and she is face-level with his straining cock -

(For a millisecond, he pauses. Is this alright? Is it _okay_? Is it within the bounds of skirting the line around _actual_ sex? Because he hasn't got his mouth on _her_ yet - just his fingers, just her hand - and that's _enough_ , it is, it really is - but Bella had such a - frankly - such a _thirst_ for the fantasy in her mind and it's not _really_ sex and - and Edward won't deny either of them this. He won't.)

He swallows heavily at the sight of her on her knees before him, back pressed against priceless first edition vinyl records, and then reaches forward and - with a faint, tight-chested smirk - smears his glistening fingers across her swollen mouth. Bella inhales sharply. She licks her lips, pauses, then closes her eyes and opens her mouth -

An invitation he does not and cannot refuse.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Edward never thought he would help plan his wedding. It simply wasn't _done_ when he was human. Not only were weddings much simpler affairs, but it was a matter of fact that his best Sunday suit would have been enough to be married in a church and that was as much thought as Edward would have been expected to put into the affair.

And yet - this is not 1918 and his bride-to-be is not the most interested in lavish events. Not as much as, say, _Alice_.

So he assists where he can and does his best, much to the amusement of his _entire_ family. Emmett certainly has a good chuckle at Edward's expense until Rosalie - surprisingly - puts a right stop to it under threat of giving Emmett the responsibility of their vow renewals when the time comes -

Emmett quiets after that.

He does not mind that it is not traditional for the man to be involved in the planning.

After all, his Bella is not a traditional girl.

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

Edward steels himself as he catches Dimitri's thoughts - _The printesa has arrived_ \- just outside the airport terminal, the car cast in shadow and the driver hidden from view by heavily shaded windows. Printesa. Princess. Bella.

She lobs a wry brow in his direction. "Did you know one of the first thoughts I had about you - before we met - was that your car was a bit pretentious?"

He smirks, squeezing her hand. "Not the Debussy?"

"Well, that too…But I take it back. _This_ is pretentious," she says of the car, the door of which opens before she can even reach for the handle.

"Ostentatious," Edward agrees, moving at human-speed as he drops their luggage into the trunk and then sliding in beside her, draping his arm over her shoulder. "Dimitri, nice to see you again."

"Hello, _printesa_ ," Dimitri intones genially. "Edward."

(Geniality, as it turns out, is the best that Edward will expect from this visit to Volterra. As he'd realized months before, his being mated to the Volturi Princess had elevated his position in vampire society from One of the Strange Vegetarians and The Long-Range Telepath to _Almost-Prince_. And such an unexpected addition, his own addition being tenuous at best until the wedding and consummation, is something akin to an earthquake insofar as the extended Volturi court is concerned.

His thoughts on the matter are this: Better they be awkwardly nice to him rather than attempt to burn him on sight. It's bad enough that Jane is still sorely tempted.

And any way, this is about Bella's induction into the Volturi, observing a formality that is already established by the pendant nestled against her sternum. Edward is content to be the shadow at her side, a faithful guard always in reach.)

 **o.o.o**

* * *

 **o.o.o**

(Edward is not restless anymore.)

* * *

 **A/N: Final part of Auntie Kim's outtake requests. Now, I** _ **was**_ **going to fulfill the wedding night part, but then I was looking at it and I couldn't think of anything. I did try, but then I didn't want to rehash the scene in such a monotone, so I'm leaving the wedding night with Bella.**

 **With this outtake, the story is officially** _ **done**_ **.**

 **As always, be brutally honest. I can take it.**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	31. the playlist

**the playlist**

Love Me Tender - Elvis Presley

Like A Star - Corrine Bailey Rae

Fall Harder - Fractures

Fragile - Rozes

The Fall - Stevie Nader

Bitter and Sick - One Two

Halo - Noosa

Do You Go Up - Khai

18th Floor Balcony - Blue October

Thinking Out Loud - Ed Sheeran

In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel

Light In Your Eyes - Flyleaf

Runaway - The Corrs

Ivy - Frank Ocean

Melt Away - Mariah Carey

Oh, It Is Love - Hellogoodbye

Here With Me - Dido

A Simple Motion - tATu

(Everything I Do) I Do It For You - Bryan Adams

I Don't Want To Miss A Thing - Aerosmith

Unchained Melody - The Righteous Brothers

At Last - Etta James

And I Love Her - The Beatles

Soul Meets Body - Death Cab For Cutie

Never Felt This Way - Brian McKnight

I'm Yours - The Script

Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Goulding

Can't Help Falling In Love - Ingrid Michaelson

Touch - Troye Sivan

Colorblind - Natalie Walker

Stay Young, Go Dancing - Death Cab For Cutie

God Only Knows - The Beach Boys

Something In The Way - The Beatles

Wonderful Tonight - Eric Clapton

Just The Way You Are - Billy Joel

Lovesong - The Cure

The Sound of Pulling Heaven Down - Blue October

White Wedding - Billy Idol

Oh! Earth Angel - The Penguins

We Belong Together - Ritchie Valens

We Belong - Pat Benetar

Oh Star - Paramore

Day Too Soon - Sia

I Can't Help Falling In Love - Elvis (covered by Haley Reinhart)

A Thousand Years - Christina Perri

* * *

 **A/N: The playlist was** _ **originally**_ **supposed to be included in the wedding epilogue - however, there were so many good suggestions on Facebook that it just kind of became a playlist for the whole damn story. Lots of good music here! Thank you to everyone who contributed to the playlist!**

 **~cupcakeriot**


	32. final author note

**final author's note**

 **debunking writer's block**

In writing this story, there have been countless moments where I have sat in front of my laptop and despaired over the next chapter, the next paragraph, the next word, a better word, a mark of punctuation - and I have felt the oft-violent urge to bust my head against the dining room table at which I write. _I bit off more than I can chew_ , I have wailed, both in my mind and on social media. If you have followed my progression in writing this tale on Facebook, then you will recall the various points at which I remarked on the difficulties I was encountering and the honestly crushing sense of anxiety I felt in meeting this challenge I had set.

And it was a pretty big challenge. All things considered, when the idea popped into my head, I didn't imagine that it would wind up being nearly as big as it was - _derivation_ seemed to turn into a hell of a tale overnight, with huge chapters and entire hours of my life sluiced into the creation of what is truthfully the first actual "fanfiction" I have ever written. When I started writing this, I still had the letters S and A on my keyboard; now they are gone, along with the bottom half of I, the arrow on the enter bar, and the key dedicated to the semi-colon.

Now that _derivation_ is complete, I feel like I can finally answer some questions as to the drive to finish it that many of you have observed.

Why this story? Why now? What was the point?

Part of it was because I did - admittedly - want to see if I _could_ challenge myself. Take four books that launched an entire sub-culture and condense it into the timeframe of a single year. Was it possible? In theory, _yes_ ; in execution, also _yes_ , _but shockingly stressful_. I hadn't anticipated the pressure or appreciated all of the major plot points that had to be incorporated as I stayed in-canon. A few of the "month" chapters were a gigantic pain in the ass. Some of the outtakes, too.

The biggest part of it, though, was this whole riot I always hear among writers about needing to have "inspiration" and suffering from "writer's block". Hell, I'll be the first to admit that I, too, have often used writer's block as a way to explain the lack of motivation I felt toward a story at any one particular time. And sure, yeah, maybe writer's block kind of goes along with the trade. But maybe it's also a load of crock.

(I'm about to be real honest here, so maybe take it with a grain of salt.)

Here's the thing. "Writer's block" is such a bloviated, ready-made excuse that there are literally notebooks stamped with the words hiding in bookstores and giftshops and on Amazon. It's become a joke for something that is honestly a seriously soul-crushing lack of productivity.

If you write, then you know what I'm talking about.

Stephen King said, "Stopping a piece of work just because it's hard - either emotionally or imaginatively - is a bad idea. Sometimes you have to do one when you don't feel like it and sometimes you're doing good work when it feels like all you're managing to do is shovel shit from a sitting position."

Confession: I am the owner of the aforementioned notebook.

I came across it about three months ago. I was in Seattle with my mother at the Harborview Medical Center. She is a cancer patient and over the several years that I have taken care of her, we have started a tradition of sorts to ease the stress that constant visitations to doctors will cause. We make it fun. Hospital visits mean fancy caramel-mocha coffee and a trip to the gift shop to look at the unique knickknacks, local chocolates, and inspirational books that litter the shelves. A little ritual just for us.

So, armed with two tall paper cups of coffee from the café across the street from the hospital, I had gone to find my mother in the giftshop. She tends to gravitate toward anything that catches her eye, which makes it hard to find her, and which ultimately means that I must also peruse the giftshop if I want to locate her anytime soon. Not a problem. The Harborview giftshop is a little bigger than other hospitals, but it's warm and I have coffee and they _do_ have cool things. I find a stuffed owl that I will send to a friend. And then, because I have a tiny obsession with collecting notebooks, I meander over to a shelf that looks promising. There's a few cool notebooks, like one that is emblazoned with photo-realistic forest with _inspire_ scrawled across the front. And then there is the one I end up buying.

It's a clever little thing. WRITER'S BLOCK it declares proudly across the front, gold-leaf stamped deep into the cover. About four inches tall and two inches deep, it is filled with unlined, blank white pages. The hard-backed cover is what really gets me, though; it's texturized to feel like woodgrain, its color mimicking that of fresh-cut pine. If you know me, then you know how much I enjoy a good pun. And here was one in my hand - an actual writer's block. A writer's block for the writer with writing blocks? Very, very clever.

Of course I buy it. It's amusing - at first. But then, as does often happen when my mind is idle, I begin to feel indignant about the thing that I have just purchased. _A writer's block_ , I think to myself on the drive home, running my fingers over the notebook with a frown, and then a scowl. A _writer's block!_ Oh! Because it's so common that a notebook like this is actually helpful? Or because it's _funny_ that people - that writers - actually have such blocks? It didn't matter, really.

I began to resent the notebook. Isn't that strange? I set it beside my laptop and the words on the cover would stare at me - while the words on my laptop would stutter, remaining frozen as I struggle to find the next phrase to place in SERPENTINE or LUCENT or GAMMA, all of which I was working on at the time. It felt like the innocuous notebook was mocking me and it didn't exactly help that even with my imagination occupied with _three_ full-length stories of three completely different genres, my creativity was still bombarded with other ideas.

Plot bunnies, we call them, but they're really distractions. Entertaining distractions, sure, but distractions that begin to pile on themselves, stealing attention away from stories that have our priorities, and ultimately adding to that pervasive block in writing that we have all experienced.

The notebook was _challenging_ me - daring me, even. It had thrown down a gauntlet that I was going to pick up. I was going to prove that notebook and the makers of that notebook and everyone who ever complained about writer's block - including myself - that _writer's block didn't actually exist_.

And I was going to do all of that by writing a story. Speed writing is what I've called it - like the 50K in a month challenge that NaNoWiMo hosts every November. An entire story told completely in as little time as possible. I had the perfect premise, too, so all I had to do was let the story take me where it would. The parameter of the writing of the story was simple: Write as quickly as possible and write as well as I am able. Edit as I go and hope that I am forgiven for any mistakes. Post and move on to the next chapter. Just get it done.

It exploded - _derivation_ came to me in a surge of frenzied energy, fueled by too much coffee and chronic insomnia and the mulish stubbornness that I crown my personality with. It came easy, with flying fingers on key boards and a sense of accomplishment as I pushed that stupid notebook to the corner of the table and delved into this butterfly-effect world I had created.

It was easy, until it wasn't. Of course that amount of energy wasn't going to last. By the time I was at the fourth full chapter, knowing I had at least eight more to go, I was beginning to lag. I suck at estimation; the little story I thought I was doing, a re-write of the story we all loved once, turned into a thing all its own, with demands on my time and my imagination that I wasn't sure I could meet. By the time I got to that one chapter that marked the transition from the rising action into the final climax, I was bone-weary by the writing. It was like wringing blood from a stone. I had to drag myself through the scenes, forcing myself to write it with as many details as I could - forcing myself to not rush, to tell the story honestly and without reservation. All things that are very hard to do when you are also making yourself do something that your body, your mind, your very _being_ is rejecting.

Second confession: For the length of an entire day, I thought about abandoning derivation. Just - leaving it. I really had bitten off more than I could chew and I couldn't gnash my teeth together anymore, let alone force it down my gullet. It was too hard. It was too much.

But then, there was that notebook. The Writer's Block, still mocking me - but not because it was a reminder that I had been blocked. No. Now it was mocking me meanly, with a tinge of victory, as if saying "You could not overcome; you tried and you failed."

For me, failure is not an option. I don't deal with failure well. I hold myself to some pretty impossible standards, sometimes - unhealthy at times, but the product of having to grow up too fast. Something that happens when you're suddenly in charge of the well-being of your parent when you're still in puberty and the role reversal of parent-child becomes irreversible. I haven't been allowed to fail since I was thirteen. I don't fail in school; I don't fail in work; I don't bother with romance so I won't fail there, either. I was not about to fail on this challenge I had set for myself.

No way was I giving in - not so close to the finish.

And so I wrote. I wrote when I didn't want to. I wrote with my head in my hands as I tried to claw _something, anything_ from my mind. I wrote when I couldn't sleep; I wrote when I should have been sleeping. I wrote and I only stopped writing when I finally hit the end.

And I cried when it was done. I'm crying right now as I write this, even.

Relief. I had won. I had beaten the writer's block - figuratively and literally. More importantly, though, is that I proved something that I think can only be learned through experience.

The only writer's block that truly exist is the ones we create for ourselves.

As in all things, we are our own worst enemy.

So, while we all know that the plot of this story was borne out of the idea of how changing one aspect can cause a butterfly effect, and now that you all know it was a self-made challenge to myself to see if I could rise to the occasion - it was also about disproving this whole "writer's block" thing that circulates among those who wield the mighty pen. I'm not going to be popular about saying this, but in writing _derivation_ , I've proved that writer's block is a load of bullshit. At least it is for me, now.

There. It's out there. Cue the rotten tomatoes.

Finally - massive _thank yous_ to everyone who stuck with me through this insanity. You know who you are. A great deal of credit for this story being complete goes to you. Many thanks to all the reviews, favorites, and follows, and my personal gratitude for everyone who recommended and shared the story. At the very least, I hope that _derivation_ delivered something to each of you! I know it delivered something to me.

 **~cupcakeriot**


End file.
